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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25946395">Umbra</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/mizdiz/pseuds/mizdiz'>mizdiz</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Walking Dead &amp; Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>1920s, 2020, Alternate Universe, F/M, Magical Realism, Time Travel, kind of, not exactly</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 07:02:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>50,528</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25946395</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/mizdiz/pseuds/mizdiz</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In the old Victorian house, in the room controlled by the moon, Daryl meets a woman who swears she isn't a ghost.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Daryl Dixon/Carol Peletier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>87</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. i. first quarter: the house</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hi, this one is going to be super weird, hope you're down for the ride. i am taking liberties here bc it takes place in an alternate universe 2020 where things aren't on fire and insane and pandemic-y. ik, big ask for that suspension of disbelief, but we can pretend, right?</p><p>anyway, here we go, new fic, weird fic, strap in, fuck-os!</p><p>-diz</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A forest of dense trees bordered the acre of land that gave way to the slope of the hill where, at the very top, the house sat.</p><p> </p><p>It was a ridiculous piece of architecture. Even in the early dawn—with the sunlight peeking up along the horizon, not a cloud in the sky—it loomed, an eerie ambiance radiating off it like an aura. The ornateness of every detail of the Victorian house was lost in intimidation. The grandeur did not breed appreciation, but rather a sense of inferiority deep inside Daryl's gut, and yet he walked the steps of the wrap around porch anyway. He slid the brass key into the large lock that turned over with a thick thunk. He opened the heavy door, and with his next step over the threshold, he began the newest, and undoubtedly the strangest, chapter of his life so far.</p><p> </p><p>Of course, he didn't know, at that moment, just <em> how </em> strange strange could get.</p><p> </p><p>No, he was none the wiser, as he immediately began cataloging information as he observed the interior of the house, scanning every inch of it like a detective at a crime scene. </p><p> </p><p>The first thing he noticed was that it was stuffy beyond belief, the air stale and hot. It was peak summertime in late July, and this house had been sitting in the Georgia heat untouched for months. There was no central air; no fans blowing; no breeze coming in from anywhere. It was a sauna, and Daryl had to fix that issue before he could do anything else.</p><p> </p><p>He crossed through the entryway, which was narrow with spiral designs carved into the wood railing that followed him out into the sitting room. </p><p> </p><p>The second thing he noticed was that it was cramped, which surprised him. He'd never been inside a Victorian house before, but in his head he'd always likened them to castles, and a part of him expected to be presented with wide open spaces and vast, cacophonous corridors. Instead, he was greeted by what some may have considered to be posh, but what he considered to be cluttered.</p><p> </p><p>There was too much going on in a single room. The walls were covered in dark tan, floral-patterned wallpaper, and the windows were hidden beneath heavy, deep red curtains. The rug on the floor was thick and richly colored as well, and the array of all the different patterns, palates, and textures made Daryl's head spin. And that was before taking the furniture into account. Almost all the furniture was original. There was a large couch, two chairs, a tall glass case full of china, and a piano in the far corner. Not to mention the built-in shelves, the fireplace, and decorations hung about the room. It was the dream home to so many, and Daryl had been there two minutes and was ready to quit and run off into the woods.</p><p> </p><p>But he couldn't. He had been given an opportunity, and he intended to see it through.</p><p> </p><p>Besides, it was only three months. In the grand scheme of things, what were three measly months?</p><p> </p><p>Still, as he crossed the closed in space to reach the window, a mild doubt lingered that perhaps he had bitten off more than he could chew. The job was easy enough: Stay in the house and fix what needed fixing in order to make it ready for the market come November. Simple.</p><p> </p><p>It was Daryl's boss, Dale Horvath, at the drywall company who offered him the gig. As a kid just barely out of his teens, still months away from legally being able to buy himself a beer, Daryl had a pretty unremarkable life. He had a high school diploma he managed to get by the skin of his teeth, one misdemeanor theft that he served probation for even though it was actually his brother who swiped the junk at the gas station and then pinned it on Daryl, apologizing later by saying, "I can't dirty my record anymore, and I figured you'd be okay taking the fall for me," and a trailer at the park he and his brother were about to be evicted from because Merle had taken the rent money and spent it on dope. All in all, it was well past time for a change.</p><p> </p><p>He just hadn't expected a change to lead him in this direction.</p><p> </p><p>The house had belonged to Dale's wife. It had been in her family for years, passed down through inheritance, and after their wedding, Dale and his wife moved right in to start their life together. Mrs. Horvath had tended to the house like it was her child, up until her cancer diagnosis and she got too sick. After she passed, Dale tried to stay, but the house had never belonged to him—it had always been hers. With no kids to pass it on to, and no blood relatives of his wife left, Dale had decided the most honest thing to do would be to give the house to someone who could love it like it deserved.</p><p> </p><p>But damn, it sure had been neglected over the past two years. But it didn't need a repair company; what it needed was someone to live in it and return some of the light back into the walls. Dale couldn't do it, but for some reason he saw potential in Daryl, and now here he was, struggling to lift up a sticky window to get some air flowing before he started sneezing on dust.</p><p> </p><p>Once the breeze drifted in, Daryl turned to face the room once more, placing his hands on his hips and surveying the scene around him. He turned off the part of his brain that was telling him there was no way he was going to manage living in this house without going crazy, and instead honed in on what needed to be fixed. </p><p> </p><p>The front door had been in dire need of some WD-40. For how old it all was, the wood of the furniture and floors were in decent shape, but could use some refurbishing with a nice coat of polish. Daryl wasn't an electrician, but he was meant to report any fritzy wires, broken sockets, and the like to Dale. The modern additions to the house had been seamlessly incorporated throughout once upon a time, but it was now Daryl's job to see if the old and the new were still working in harmony or not. How was the water pressure? Do all the toilets flush? Where would be the best place to put a WiFi router? These were the questions Daryl was tasked with answering, and no matter how wary he was, he still intended to put in his all. Dale was doing him a huge favor, paying him to stay in this house and giving him three whole months to get a security deposit and first month's rent together so that when this was over he could finally get away from Merle for good. He was not about to do Dale dirty and do a mediocre job.</p><p> </p><p>The bag slung over his shoulder was digging into his skin. It had essentially everything he owned inside of it—which in retrospect was pretty sad—but he decided his next course of action, before documenting any more of the house, would be to find his bedroom. Dale said there were four bedrooms and he could have his pick, and so he made his way back to the entryway where the steep staircase led to the second floor.</p><p> </p><p>The stairs creaked under the weight of his steps, the age of them echoing in the quiet house. Daryl had the fleeting illogical thought that he might fall right through. He kept a hand on the winding banister, feeling off balance, all the way to the top, where he was met with a long, dark hallway with several closed doors. He flipped a light switch on the wall, and the bulb above him turned on for a split second, before blowing out with snapping sound, leaving Daryl in the shadows once again. Sighing, Daryl turned the flashlight on his phone and started at the door closest to him.</p><p> </p><p>He went through each room. There was a truly ancient bathroom with a clawfoot tub and unfortunate pink wallpaper that at least someone must have thought looked nice once upon a time. The first bedroom he found had apparently been used as a storage space, as boxes of junk had been crammed inside, making access to the bed nearly impossible. The next three, in order, were a child's bedroom with sailboats on the walls and a bed a size too small for him, a innocuous room devoid of much personality at all, and the master bedroom.</p><p> </p><p>Unsurprisingly, he went with the average one. There were no rules against using the master bedroom, but he couldn't help but think that the giant, king-size bed in there was where Dale's wife had spent the last few months of her life before being moved into hospice, and to encroach on that space seemed inappropriate.</p><p> </p><p>The third room was his, then. He tossed his duffel bag on the floor and glanced around. It was probably the most unremarkable room in the entire house. The walls were greyish-blue, with a matching, equally dull rug spread across the hardwood floor. The bed was meticulously made, and had clearly not been touched in quite a long time, given the fine layer of dust that lay atop it. Behind the bedside table there was a window, and Daryl pulled the curtains open, letting light flood inside, and then lifted it up as far as it would go, keeping it propped up with a wooden rod on the windowsill that seemed to have been left for that exact purpose.</p><p> </p><p>He crossed his arms and blew out a breath.</p><p> </p><p>Welcome home, he thought reluctantly. And once again he wondered just what it was he had gotten himself into this time.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>Daryl spent the rest of the day making an inventory for what he needed to fix the house up. Only half the lights worked, so a visit from an electrician would be crucial. The plumbing, much to his relief, seemed to work fine, although it probably wouldn’t hurt to get it looked at. Better to fix it before a catastrophe than to wait until the place flooded.</p><p> </p><p>Truth be told, the infrastructure of the house was solid. The thing that was missing most was personality. Sure, he would polish the floors, and make sure no wallpaper was peeling, and what have you, but if it was ever going to sell at top market value Daryl would have to make it seem homey, which was looking to be quite the task given that to him it felt, more than anything, exceedingly haunted.</p><p> </p><p>That feeling certainly did not subside come dusk. Daryl had spent plenty of nights by himself, camping in the forest under the moonlight, but this was a different kind of alone. Perhaps the difference was that he didn’t feel alone at all. That was one of the worst feelings, wasn’t it? That feeling of being watched when there should be no one else around but you. </p><p> </p><p>The lower the sun got in the horizon the more Daryl contemplated camping out in the front yard. Outside was familiar; this house was a stranger. But he didn’t want to chicken out on his very first night on the job. Dale would probably never find out if Daryl chose not to sleep inside, but Daryl would know, and worse still he would know why: Because he was afraid.</p><p> </p><p>Well, that wouldn’t do. He was grown, damnit. He wasn’t about to banish himself to the front yard because of a childish fear. Ghost stories always managed to get his hair to stand on end, but ghost stories were exactly that—stories.</p><p> </p><p>His brother used to play nasty tricks on him; knew his brother has a proclivity for an overactive imagination, and would take advantage. Merle would tell him tall tales, and would sneak up on him in the dark with a flashlight held beneath his chin, just for the fun of getting his little brother to scream.</p><p> </p><p>Merle wasn’t here, but Daryl couldn’t take even the smallest chance of giving him the satisfaction of knowing he’d managed to get inside Daryl’s head from all the taunting and mean jokes from when they were kids. He was going to sleep in the creepy, old house, point blank period, end of discussion.</p><p> </p><p>Immediately, a rock landed hard in the pit of his stomach, but he paid it no mind.</p><p> </p><p>There was, after all, no such thing as ghosts.</p><p> </p><p>That being said, he stayed on the porch nursing a Coke long past sunset, until the mosquitoes finally drove him inside. He didn’t take the time to loiter on the first floor, where that cramped, claustrophobic feeling was tenfold in the dark. Instead, he made a beeline up the stairs and ducked into the room he’d chosen as his own. The door hinge was crooked, and he had to push on it bodily with his hip to get it to shut. </p><p> </p><p>The wiring to the overhead light was wonky, making it flicker like a strobe, so Daryl opted instead for the bedside lamp. The bulb was weak, casting the room in a dull, golden hue, but it was better than nothing. Daryl was embarrassed to admit that the idea of lying alone in a pitch black room made his stomach twist.</p><p> </p><p>There was no internet installed in the house—something he’d have to address—and the data on his phone was limited this far in the country, but he had a couple episodes of a podcast downloaded. He’d told his friend Glenn he’d listen to them, having no intention of actually doing so, but he was grateful for them now as he turned them on, simply for the noise.</p><p> </p><p>He lay on the springy, twin bed on his back, hands folded on his belly, listening with mild interest, until he realized the subject matter was about supernatural occurrences. Swearing under his breath, he turned the podcast off and was faced with the deafening silence of the house.</p><p> </p><p>Except it wasn’t silent. That was the problem with these old houses—they made all sorts of noises. The walls groaned, the wind made tree branches scratch at the windows, and a million other indistinguishable pops and snaps rang out at random intervals, putting Daryl further and further on edge. </p><p> </p><p>He felt stupid. The forest was a cacophony of different sounds and it never bothered him at all. If anything, the whispers in the woods would lull him to sleep, but this house made adrenaline pour into his veins. He shuffled up into a sitting position, wrapping his arms around his knees, and gazed around the dimly lit room.</p><p> </p><p>It really was the plainest room in the entire house. When he was wandering through the building earlier it was easy for him to picture people living there. He could see a family gathered around the fireplace, or a Thanksgiving dinner being prepared in the kitchen. But he couldn’t picture the type of person who would stay in a room like this. When he tried to conjure their face he came up empty. It was as though the room was designed to be unreadable. </p><p> </p><p>He got off the bed, the springs creaking, and he began to walk the perimeter of the room, trailing a hand along the bland wallpaper. He walked his fingers across the top of the basic dresser, and stopped in front of the closet. The door was partially ajar, and after a beat he pulled it the rest of the way open to reveal a whole lot of nothing. There wasn’t even a bar to hang clothes. It was completely empty except for a single bulb with a string hanging down. He started to turn away, when out of the corner his eye he caught sight of something.</p><p> </p><p>Tentatively, he pulled the string and was surprised when the light clicked on. He stepped all the way into the closet and began to examine the back wall. It was underwhelming, say for a tiny corner of the wood panel sticking out a couple millimeters. Easy to miss—easy to ignore even if it wasn’t missed—but Daryl’s interest was piqued because of the placement of the small gap. It was in the very center, and the wallpaper fit over it perfectly, as though it was there on purpose. Daryl reached out and hooked his blunt nails into the gap and gave it a tiny tug.</p><p> </p><p>He wasn’t sure what he expected to happen, but he wasn’t prepared for the wood panel to pull away from the wall and open halfway. It took him a few seconds to process that what he was looking at was a secret door. </p><p> </p><p>Of course. Of <em> course </em> the creepy house had a secret door. </p><p> </p><p>If he was smart he would shove it shut and pretend he never saw it. But maybe he was a fool, because he couldn’t bring himself to do it. After all, how often did one come across a secret door? </p><p> </p><p>Swallowing hard, Daryl turned on the flashlight on his phone and shined it inside the hidden space, and his heart flew up to his throat when he was met with a set of narrow stairs. Secret stairs inside a secret door—he should have just listened to the scary podcast and forced himself into a restless sleep. He angled the light up and saw that the stairs led to what looked like yet another door. </p><p> </p><p>This was how he died. He’d watched horror movies, he knew how they worked, this was the beginning of his end. They said curiosity killed the cat.</p><p> </p><p>But what they always forget to add, is that satisfaction brought it back.</p><p> </p><p>“Son of a bitch,” Daryl muttered to himself, his mind made up before he really even gave himself time to think. Ducking down, he squeezed himself through the secret door and placed a foot on the first step. The ceiling hung low, and he had to crouch. His breathing became labored, as though the walls were closing in on him, but he continued to climb, slow as a snail.</p><p> </p><p>What felt like a millenia later, but was likely only a couple minutes tops, Daryl reached the second secret door. This one was normal sized and beautiful, made from a richly colored mahogany. Engraved at the top was what appeared to be a moon cycle. Crescent, half, full, and back again. Daryl’s eyes fell to the doorknob, and was struck by the most unsettling thing thus far. </p><p> </p><p>The doorknob was modern and flawlessly silver, not a single nick on it. If Daryl didn’t know better, he would have thought that it had come straight from the hardware store. It stood out in total contrast to the century old door around it. </p><p> </p><p>There was still time to turn back, but who was he kidding? Hating every second of this, Daryl reached out and turned the knob. </p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t locked, and the door went easily, opening into a spacious room with a vaulted ceiling and a panel of glass directly above the center that looked out into the night sky. </p><p> </p><p>Daryl straightened up and jolted when the door fell shut behind him. Squaring his shoulders in mock confidence, he took a few hesitant steps into this new space. Despite how he found it, this was the first place in the entire house where Daryl didn’t feel instantly claustrophobic. The area was basic, with room to breathe, and the furniture inside it was minimal and spread apart.</p><p> </p><p>There was a large bed pushed up against the far wall, and several paces from that sat an ornate, vintage vanity, fit with a beautiful mirror and two wide drawers on either side. A medium-sized bookshelf was diagonally across the wide expanse of the room. Like so many rooms in the house, the floor was hardwood, and spread across it was a giant rug with a design that matched the carving on the door: A moon cycle.</p><p> </p><p>There were no lights to turn on. Instead, on either side of the door, there were long, white candles in gold holders screwed into the walls. Dripping wax was dried in place on each one. Daryl patted his pocket, checking for his zippo, but came up empty and continued on with his phone flashlight.</p><p> </p><p>Cautiously, he made his way over to the bookshelf and the first thing he noticed was the absence of dust. He fingered the spines of the books lightly, noting that all the titles seemed old. He recognized a few, like Tolkien and Bronte sisters’ novels, but not a single one seemed to be from the twenty-first century. That alone piqued his interest, but stranger still was that while the stories were ancient, the books themselves looked as though they had been bought recently. </p><p> </p><p>There was a paperback lying on top of the bookshelf, and Daryl picked it up gingerly. The title read, <em> The Woman’s Bible </em>, written by Elizabeth Cady Stanton. Daryl’s best subject had always been history, and although it was difficult to recall details, it took him only a moment to place the name to the women’s suffrage movement. He thumbed through the pages and found passages underlined and notes scribbled in the margins. He flipped to the title page and frowned at the copyright date. 1895, first edition, but besides being well-loved, it was in mint condition.</p><p> </p><p>Shaking his head in confusion, he set the book back down where he found it, and was about to peruse the rest of the collection when the sound of a door creaking open sent a chill down his spine. Turning on the spot, his eyes landed on the door he came from, and sure enough it was being pushed open.</p><p> </p><p>On instinct, Daryl dropped down and crouched against the wall, hiding himself the best he could with the bookshelf as a shield. He switched his flashlight off and watched, heart thumping wildly, as someone—or something—entered the strange room.</p><p> </p><p>It was a woman. Or at least she looked like one. She was pretty, no older than he was, with auburn hair twisted in a bun on the top of her head. She wore an ankle-length, cream colored nightgown with a lace collar, and thick, knit stockings on her shoeless feet. </p><p> </p><p>She also happened to be partially transparent. </p><p> </p><p>Daryl could make out the wall behind her when staring at her straight on.</p><p> </p><p>He held his breath and didn’t move a muscle as he watched what he was convinced had to be an apparition move about the room. </p><p> </p><p>The first thing she did was reach into the bosom of her nightgown and produce a thin matchbook she had hidden there. She struck a match and cupped the flame, bringing it to the wick of the first candle, and then quickly did the same to the second candle, lighting it with a practiced ease. Extinguishing the match by giving it a solid shake, she turned away from the candles that now illuminated the room in dancing shadows, and gracefully walked towards the vanity. Daryl pressed himself flatter against the wall. She took a seat at the stool and began examining what would be an every day person’s reflection, but from his vantage point, Daryl couldn’t see if she actually had one.</p><p> </p><p>She pulled a hair comb from the bun on her head, and her curls cascaded freely down the length of her back, falling just above her waist. She reached into one of the drawers and pulled out a brush. She ran it through her hair and began humming the tune to a song Daryl had never heard.</p><p> </p><p>He was certain he was dealing with a ghost—what else could this woman be? She appeared harmless enough, but that didn’t mean Daryl was about to let down his guard. A pretty ghost was still a ghost. Along with his terror he felt a strong sense of, “I told you so,” because as many times as he had insisted to himself and others that he didn’t believe in ghosts, it had always been a secret lie.</p><p> </p><p>Still, that didn’t mean he wanted to be stuck in a room with one. Especially a hidden room that, by all rights, shouldn’t exist. </p><p> </p><p>He looked to the door again and contemplated his next move. As appreciative as he was to be in a room that wasn’t quite so cramped, it was working against him now, because there was nothing to block him if he was to rush from his tenuous hiding spot beside the bookshelf to the safe haven of the door. He would have to pass behind the ghost woman, and maybe she didn’t have a reflection, but he was certain he did, and there was no way it wouldn’t betray his presence. </p><p> </p><p>Maybe, he thought with a grimace, if he waited long enough she would simply disappear; walk through a wall and vanish perhaps, leaving him to deal with his heart attack in peace. </p><p> </p><p>As it so happened, he didn’t need to worry about an escape plan. His knees were starting to wobble in his squatting position, and he carefully shifted a foot to retain his balance. Unfortunately, the sole of his boot found a particularly creaky floorboard, and the sound startled him, causing him to bump his shoulder into the bookshelf. <em> The Woman’s Bible </em>, that he had left sitting precariously on top of the shelf, went tumbling to the floor, hitting it with a thud, and just like that Daryl was certain he had written his own epitaph.</p><p> </p><p>The woman jumped to her feet and spun around to face his direction. First, her eyes landed on the book that was lying on its pages, spread out in the shape of a tent. Then, very slowly, she turned her gaze on him. </p><p> </p><p>Her shriek came a split second later, causing Daryl’s skin to break out into goosebumps. The woman covered her chest with her hands, covering her breasts even though her nightgown was modest, bordering on conservative. She backed up, running the backs of her legs into the vanity stool, and even in her partial transparency Daryl could tell she was trembling.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t hurt me,” she said, and her voice was strange. It sounded to Daryl like when one changed altitude and their ears started to pop, making everything seem kind of distant and hard to hear. </p><p> </p><p>Daryl said nothing; couldn’t even if he wanted to. He was as transfixed as he was terrified, and paralyzed in place. The only thing he moved was his eyes, as they darted towards the door and back again, and he saw the woman do it too. They seemed to be making the same calculation: Could he make it to the door before she could, and vice versa? They were approximately the same distance away, Daryl maybe a foot or two further, so it would come down to speed, and Daryl, having been trained to hunt at a very young age, knew that running wasn’t always the best way to prevent getting attacked. </p><p> </p><p>Whether she came to the same conclusion or was simply too frightened to try, Daryl didn’t know, but she made no moves to flee.</p><p> </p><p>Instead, she repeated, “Don’t hurt me.”</p><p> </p><p>“I won’t.” It took him a moment to realize the words had come from his own mouth. The woman seemed equally shocked.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know how you found this room, but if you’re here to rob us, I can assure you you’ll find no valuables in here. And if you’re came to...well, if you have ill intentions with me I will have you know that I’m much more capable than I look, and if you attempt anything I <em> will </em> fight back, and—”</p><p> </p><p>“Hold up. I don’t have any ‘ill intentions.’ Told you, I ain’t gonna hurt you.” Swallowing hard, Daryl slowly got to his feet. When the woman tensed he held his hands up in reassurance, and she watched him, wide-eyed and wary, until he was standing and fully visible to her in the candlelight. It was then that the fear on the woman’s face shifted into something much more bemused. </p><p> </p><p>“Why do you look like that?” she asked, her voice even harder to make out as it dropped to a whisper. Instinctively, Daryl glanced down at himself. He wasn’t dressed to the nines by any means—he was in a pair of ripped jeans and a flannel with the sleeves cut off—but his get up was fairly innocuous in his opinion.</p><p> </p><p>“Whaddya mean?” </p><p> </p><p>“Your body,” she said, furrowing her brow. “Your clothes. I can’t…” She shook her head in confusion. “It sounds absurd to say, but...I can see through you.” </p><p> </p><p>At that Daryl huffed a surprised laugh.</p><p> </p><p>“You can see through <em> me </em>?” he asked incredulously. “Funny. I could say the same about you.” Feeling somewhat hysterical, he covered his face with his hands and muttered, “I knew it. I knew this damn house had’ta be haunted.” </p><p> </p><p>“I beg your pardon?” said the woman. She stood straighter, seeming almost affronted. Daryl dropped his arms and stared at her for a long beat. Unsettling though she was, she had an air about her that was not particularly supernatural. If he didn’t know any better—and of course he did—he’d say she seemed incredibly <em> human </em>. Was he being faced now with a ghost who didn’t know she was a ghost? Was he being tasked with the responsibility of telling this paranormal woman that she was no longer part of this mortal coil? God forbid he was supposed to help her discover whatever unfinished business she had that was keeping her tethered to this horrible house.</p><p> </p><p>“Look, I dunno how the fuck I’m s’pposed to explain this,” Daryl found himself saying. “But lady, you’re a ghost.”</p><p> </p><p>The woman squinted at him as though he was a circus freak, and then let out a disbelieving chuckle. </p><p> </p><p>“You’re crazy,” she said. “Whoever you are, <em> whatever </em> you are, I can assure you with the utmost certainty that I am nothing of the sort. You on the other hand.” She looked him up and down as she reached up and took hold of a pendant hanging off of a thin, silver chain she had around her neck. “I always knew there was something off with this room; that one day I’d discover whatever secrets my uncle had hidden here, but I am not too proud to admit that I never would have anticipated <em> you </em>. An apparition dressed like...I haven’t a clue. Like you emerged from the woods like some kind of wild man and appeared here before me.” </p><p> </p><p>Oh, okay. So this woman wasn’t just a ghost—she was an asshole.</p><p> </p><p>“Imma give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you’re bein’ bitchy ‘cause you’re havin’ a hard time dealin’ with the news that you’re dead,” Daryl said. The woman scoffed. </p><p> </p><p>“I am <em> not </em> a ghost,” she said. “You’re the one standing in my room with a transparent body, knocking my things around haphazardly.” She gestured pointedly at the book lying on the ground.</p><p> </p><p>“Lady, you’re the one walkin’ around lookin’ like a hologram.”</p><p> </p><p>“A <em> what </em>?” </p><p> </p><p>“Exactly.” Daryl cast a glance around the room of antiques. “Ain’t a ghost, huh? Tell me, what’s the date?”</p><p> </p><p>“The seventeenth of July,” the woman said. </p><p> </p><p>“Right, but what year?”</p><p> </p><p>“Nineteen twenty.” When Daryl barked a laugh she scowled and asked, “What, pray tell, is so funny?”</p><p> </p><p>“Nothing, except you’re off a few years. Try two thousand and twenty.” </p><p> </p><p>Now it was the woman’s turn to laugh. She said, “Are you telling me that it’s a hundred years in the future? Right. And is everyone in the future as pleasant as you, or are you a special case?” </p><p> </p><p>“Jesus Christ. Only I’d get saddled with the world’s bitchiest ghost,” Daryl said, rubbing his temples. He didn’t know if he was supposed to be scared or annoyed, so he was going for a mix of both while silently thinking about how he was going to tell Dale that this job was way above his pay grade, assuming he ever got out of this room.</p><p> </p><p>“The mouth on you is astounding. I’ll assume that’s simply part of the vernacular of the future and you’re not just a terribly rude man?” the woman asked. She seemed to have fallen solidly into the “annoyed” category. “And I am <em> not </em> a ghost.” </p><p> </p><p>“Right, okay, you’re not a ghost,” Daryl said, rolling his eyes. “Just so long as you keep not bein’ a ghost up here far away from me then we ain’t gonna have a problem.”</p><p> </p><p>“It would be my absolute pleasure to never cross paths with you again. Why don’t you go back to the woods and not be a ghost out there?” </p><p> </p><p>The two of them held each other’s gaze for a long moment, and Daryl suddenly had the ridiculous desire to laugh, the absurdity of the situation hitting him all at once. She must have been feeling the same, because the corner of her lip twitched. </p><p> </p><p>“Who the hell are you?” Daryl asked finally. The woman rubbed the pendant on her necklace that he couldn’t see well enough to make out between two fingers as she regarded him.</p><p> </p><p>“Carol Mason,” she said finally. “My uncle, Charlie, built this house and my family has lived here for decades. And I am quite sorry to inform you that we still do.” </p><p> </p><p>“I’m Daryl Dixon,” he said. “And I’m sorry to tell you that the hell you do, ‘cause I just moved in, and I know for a fact that ain’t nobody’s lived in this house for years.” </p><p> </p><p>Carol bit her lower lip and nodded her head slowly.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, Daryl Dixon, I believe we have reached a very strange impasse.” </p><p> </p><p>“Seems like.” </p><p> </p><p>“If you truly believe me to be a ghost then why aren’t you afraid of me? I would imagine that’s not something you happen upon every day.”</p><p> </p><p>“Kinda hard to be afraid of a ghost wearing cozy socks,” Daryl said, gesturing at Carol’s transparent stocking feet. She let out a surprised laugh, looking down and wiggling her toes. “Why ain’t you afraid of me?” Daryl asked, and she lifted her head back up.</p><p> </p><p>“Because, this room has secrets,” she said cryptically. “I don’t know what they are, but I know they exist, and I’ve spent my whole life preparing to find them out. That, and you are insufferably rude. You don’t seem harmful, you seem to be a nuisance. A mosquito is a nuisance, but it’s foolish to be frightened of one.” There was a glint of humor in her eye and Daryl snorted.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, well you ain’t much better,” he muttered. He glanced at the door again and silently made his way to it, half expecting Carol to follow him, but she didn’t. He came to a stop before the door and frowned. </p><p> </p><p>“Are you leaving?” Carol asked from behind him.</p><p> </p><p>“Why are there two doorknobs on this side of the door but not the other?” he asked in lieu of an answer. He looked over his shoulder and saw Carol furrow her brow. She appeared to have a mental debate before making her way over to him. They watched each other warily, and still stood a good distance apart, but when she looked at the door her attention fell on it fully.</p><p> </p><p>“There has only ever been one,” she said, shaking her head. </p><p> </p><p>Daryl’s shiny, modern doorknob was right where he expected it to be, but right above it was another knob—an antique one with a spiral design—that he was certain hadn’t been on the other side when he entered. </p><p> </p><p>Without thinking, Daryl reached out to touch the antique doorknob, but he was startled when his hand went right through it. He swallowed hard and looked at Carol, who seemed equally anxious. She held his gaze for a second before reaching out and trying to grab his silver doorknob, but just like his attempt, her hand went through as though she were the wind. </p><p> </p><p>For a moment Daryl was panicked, afraid he was locked inside the secret room, but when he grabbed his doorknob it was thankfully solid under his grasp. He sighed in relief, the metal cool under his palm, and turned the handle, pulling the door open.</p><p> </p><p>“What on Earth?” Carol said, eyes wide.</p><p> </p><p>“What?” Daryl asked, frowning at her.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s walled off,” she said, pointing at the open stairwell. </p><p> </p><p>“No it isn’t.” </p><p> </p><p>“Yes it is.” She placed her hand flat through the threshold of the door and seemed to come into contact with something solid. She looked at Daryl expectantly, but he shook his head.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t see anything,” he said, almost apologetically. Then, getting an idea, he gestured for her to move and shut the door again and instructed, “Open it.” </p><p> </p><p>“What?” </p><p> </p><p>“Open it.” </p><p> </p><p>Hesitating only a moment, Carol reached out and, as he expected, grabbed hold of the antique doorknob and turned it slowly. When she pulled the door open Daryl was met with a solid brick wall. He blew out a big breath.</p><p> </p><p>“Is there a wall?” she asked him quietly.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” he murmured. “There sure is.”</p><p> </p><p>“We have different doors?” Carol asked. She stared out into what Daryl was certain was her stairwell that he wasn’t, for whatever reason, allowed to see.</p><p> </p><p>“So it would seem.”</p><p> </p><p>“How is that possible?”</p><p> </p><p>“Ain’t you the one who said this room had secrets?” Daryl asked, looking at her. His eyes fell to her neck where her necklace lay. It was difficult to make it out, what with her body still see-through, but it appeared to be a small crescent moon. </p><p> </p><p>“I did,” Carol said. “But that doesn’t mean I understand them.” </p><p> </p><p>Daryl, in a rush, got the overwhelming need to flee the scene. He needed time to process; to decide if this was all a dream. </p><p> </p><p>“I need to go,” he said absently.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah.” She closed the door and gestured for him to take his doorknob in hand. She regarded him with a severe gaze that made Daryl blush.</p><p> </p><p>“Stop that,” he told her.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s just...you really aren’t a ghost, are you?”</p><p> </p><p>“No.”</p><p> </p><p>“Neither am I, you know.”</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe you ain’t,” Daryl said. He opened his door and paused before dashing back down to his bland room below. “But I might still take your advice.”</p><p> </p><p>“What advice?” </p><p> </p><p>Daryl gave her a humorless smile and said, “I might go sleep in the woods tonight.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. ii. waxing gibbous: the storm</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Daryl didn’t sleep in the house for the next three days. At first he tried to pretend that what happened in the hidden room had been some sort of psychotic break, and the only reason he was camping out in the yard was because he liked the open air, but even he couldn’t go on with <em> that </em> much denial. Eventually he accepted the truth, which was that he was afraid. And who could blame him?! He had a full length conversation with a ghost—or whatever she was. Certainly he was entitled to a little fear.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>At least that’s what he told himself each night when he scurried out the front door to the safety of his tent on the edge of the forest.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As guilty and ashamed as he felt, he made sure not to slack on his end of the bargain during the day. In the daylight hours Daryl did his job to the best of his ability, starting with a full cleaning of the entire first floor. After Mrs. Horvath got sick house maintenance fell to the wayside, and after sitting unoccupied for two years the place needed a good scrub down. Sneezing up a storm as he dusted and wiped down every surface he could reach, Daryl made sure that before he started any renovations, the place shined like a new penny.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Not that it did much to change his opinion of the house. Sweeping up dust bunnies and polishing furniture didn’t change the fact that the interior had still looked like it had over a century ago, and there was something particularly eerie about walking around a house that looked like it popped right out of an American history book, almost like he had been transported in time. That feeling made him think about what he was trying to repress, which was the voice of that woman telling him she was alive and well in 1920. The statement seemed a lot less absurd when his surroundings felt like they were backing up the claim.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Daryl spent a good amount of time inspecting the outside of the house as well. All things considered it was in pretty good shape. Two days after the incident in the hidden room, Daryl took a ladder to the roof to see if it needed to be reshingled, and he found himself quickly getting distracted as he searched around for any indication of the skylight that had been dead center in the ceiling in that awful room.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He never found it. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Then came the night of the storm.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He had been beginning to think that he was going to get away with sleeping outside forever. Dale had stopped by once to check and see how Daryl was settling in, but Daryl was smart to take down his tent every day, and Dale didn’t seem to like being around the house full of memories, both good and bad, and hadn’t stayed long. But then it had to go and storm. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Daryl was plenty used to rain, and had camped in it before—he wasn’t an <em> amateur </em>—but this wasn’t a simple rainshower. A category three hurricane had decided to wreak havoc on the east coast; the storm was so strong northern Georgia was getting a taste of it as well in the form of monstrous thunderstorms. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The clouds had started to grow dark around mid-afternoon, and by evening everything was bathed in a dark green, the air thick with humidity and buzzing with electricity. The first rumbles of thunder filled Daryl with dread. He stood on the front porch with his arms crossed and watched a bolt of lightning strike in the distance. He counted—<em> one Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi, four </em>—and was cut off by a loud crashing sound that rattled the ground. Three and a half seconds, three and a half miles. The storm would be there soon. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The rain started as a drizzle, wetting the grass and dotting the cobbled walkway with droplets. The transition from a sprinkle to a downpour was abrupt. One more thunder crash and the sky broke apart, the rain suddenly so heavy Daryl could hardly see through it. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The wind came next, whipping through the air, blowing the rain onto the porch where Daryl stood. He didn't move right away, letting the rain hit his bare arms and face, briefly appreciating the way it cooled him down after spending the day in the stiff heat of the un-air conditioned house. But the relief didn't last, because the longer and harder the rain fell, the clearer it was becoming that Daryl wouldn’t be sleeping outside that night, lest he and his flimsy tent got swept away in a flash flood.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He put it off as long as possible, and by the time he finally wandered back inside his clothes were damp and his shaggy hair was sticking to his cheeks. He brushed the wet strands off his face and grimaced at the staircase that led to the bedroom, and all the secrets it held.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There was always the couch. It was old and ugly and smelled like mothballs, but there was nothing stopping him from plopping down in the living room with a blanket and paying the second floor no mind. But while it was one thing to escape to the outdoors to outrun his fears, it somehow felt more cowardly to cower in the house itself. Merle would laugh him into next week if he knew he was there shitting his pants over a spooky bedroom. The thought of all the names his brother would call him if he ever found out gave Daryl the ounce of courage he needed to climb up the creaky steps.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The room was as he left it the other day, the bedsheets rumbled and the closet door closed as tight as possible. (He had briefly considered sticking a chair under the handle to make sure it remained that way, but had talked himself out of it.) He toed off his boots and climbed into the bed, casting a sidelong glance at the closet as though at any moment it would swing open and ghosts would swoop into his room to get him. God, when was the last time he was so childishly afraid like this? What next? Was he going to check for monsters under his bed, too?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He flopped onto his back and stared at the ceiling. There was a thin crack above him; a zigzagged line that matched the shape of the lightning going buck wild outside. With every strike the subsequent thunder clap would shake the entire house, making it feel like it might all get blown away if it got much worse.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A tremendous crash hit suddenly, and with it went the lights. The lamp on the bedside table snapped off and Daryl was bathed in darkness, the only light coming from behind the curtain where the lightning was illuminating the sky in strobe-like flashes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Fuckin' great," Daryl muttered to himself, trying to ignore how his heart picked up speed. He clamped his eyes shut and lay there for some time, listening to the rain pummel the window and the wind whistling by. He wasn't tired—it was early still, not long after sunset—but he thought that if he managed to at least nap then by the time he woke up the storm would have passed and he would have proven to himself that he was capable of staying in this bedroom all alone.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But sleep eluded him. Even if he had been exhausted it was a fool's hope to think that he'd be able to rest like this. He opened his eyes and let them adjust to the dark before pushing himself up into a sitting position. He brought his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around his shins, and in the shadowed blackness, Daryl considered the closet door.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Curiosity prickled in the back of his mind, competing with his fear. He tried to swallow it back, but it only grew stronger as he thought about what he might find if he pulled back the secret door and entered the hidden room again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was a long time that he spent debating, his fear putting up a valiant fight, but eventually he could no longer resist the thrall of his curiosity. He was an undisciplined child with a giant red button sitting in front of him that he had been told not to press. But of course he was going to press it. Of course he was.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Swearing under his breath, Daryl swung his legs over the side of the bed and got to his feet. He patted around the top quilt until he found his phone, and once more the device became his flashlight as he made his way to the closet.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When he came face-to-face with the unassuming wall only he knew masked the secret passageway beyond he didn’t give himself time to think; knew that if he did he’d be sat in that closet until daybreak. Instead, he ran his hand over the wallpaper until he felt the dip of the crevice that marked the edge of the camouflaged door. He pried it open with three fingers, and pulled it open wide enough for him to crawl through.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The narrow staircase complained under the weight of his tentative steps, and the walls around him rattled when a clap of thunder rumbled outside. The cramped space made the storm sound even more tumultuous, the pounding of the rain muffled but powerful, like he had covered his ears while standing in the shower, and he had the fleeting thought that if the storm was to take down the house right then it would be some time before they found him buried alive in a part of the house that, for all he knew, no one knew existed. He gave his head a shake and continued to climb, trying not to imagine the house being blown away <em> Wizard of Oz </em> style.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>By the time he reached the old, antique door with the shiny, modern handle, Daryl was ready to get out of the tiny stairwell, his fears about facing whatever was beyond it marginally diminished as the walls around him felt like they were getting closer and closer together with every new boom of thunder. Consequently, there was no hesitation, and once he was through the door and it had closed shut behind him, Daryl noticed three things in quick succession.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The first thing he noticed was the silence. It was like he had been driving in the rain and then went into a tunnel. One second he was certain a tornado had to be brewing in his front yard with how hard the wind was blowing, and in the next there was nothing. No drops of rain hitting the roof, no vibrations of thunder rolling beneath the ground below. <em> Nothing. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>The second thing he noticed was that the candles on either side of the doorway were already lit, and where he had been preparing for darkness there was sudden light. The hand holding his cell phone fell to his side. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The third thing he noticed was that he wasn’t alone.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Across the room, obscured partially in shadow, Carol was on the bed, another lit candle propped up on the top of the bookshelf, casting an orange light on the book she had balancing on her knees, and Daryl was hit with a slew of conflicting emotions upon seeing her. For days he’d refused to sleep in the house because he was afraid she might appear, but why, then, had he come here in the first place, if not to see her again?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This noticing wasn’t one-sided. When Daryl’s eyes fell on Carol he was startled to see her staring right back.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Neither of them moved at first, both of them watching the other like two animals with their hackles raised, wondering if this would end in a fight, and waiting for the other one to make that decision. Then, slowly, Carol dogeared the corner of a page in her book and then set it aside. Gracefully, she pushed herself up and sat on the edge of the bed, the tips of her socked feet touching the hardwood floor, and her fingers laced in her lap. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s you,” she said finally. Her voice, while still quieter than it should be, seemed stronger than it had the night they met. Daryl didn’t know how to answer, and so he didn’t, opting instead to continue to stare at her like an idiot.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When it became clear that he wasn’t going to be making any first moves—either towards her or back down the way he came—Carol worried her lower lip between her teeth for a beat, and then stood up in one swift motion. Daryl tensed, but did not flee.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dressed in another lacy, modest nightgown that fell all the way to the tops of her ankles, Carol took a few tentative steps forward, until she had escaped the shadows that hid her and was clearly in view of Daryl. Immediately he frowned at her, and she mirrored him, regarding him with the same confusion he was certain he had written all over his face.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Ya look dif’rent,” he mumbled, his syllables getting lost in his stuck throat. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>But she did look different. The other night Carol’s body had appeared to be equal parts present and absent, but that wasn’t the case now. Where before she had walked around the room see-through like a window screen, today she seemed almost solid. Almost, but not quite, as though all her features had been softened to erase any hard edges. Looking at her was like trying to make sense of an optical illusion—she was a trick of the eye. A quick glance showed nothing but a pretty, young woman, with blue eyes and auburn hair, and if he really strained himself he could see smaller details, like the jewels in her pierced ears, that pendant around her neck, or the way her forehead creased when she furrowed her brow at him, but then, when she shifted slightly, Daryl also thought he could see the flame of the candle—the one on the bookshelf that had very much not been there the last time he was here—shining through her. Not around her, but <em> through </em>. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You do as well,” Carol said softly. She outstretched an arm, as if to touch him, but even with her too far away to reach him, Daryl recoiled, taking a full step back. She quickly withdrew her hand. “I didn’t know if I would see you again,” she said instead, not mentioning his reaction. “I had even begun to convince myself that you may have been a dream.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah, well.” Daryl cleared his throat, watching her warily even though she made no more attempts to touch him. “I ain’t.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Funnily enough I had surmised as much when you came bursting through my door,” Carol deadpanned. Daryl snorted in spite of himself.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Still snippy as hell for a ghost,” he muttered, more to himself than at her. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I <em> told </em> you, I am not—”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Not a ghost. Yeah yeah, so I’ve heard,” Daryl said, waving a dismissive hand at her. He leaned his head back and took in a long steadying breath, trying to calm some of his nerves, although he wasn’t sure which ones were even firing, since all of this went beyond unusual and into the absurd. Then, as he trained his eyes on the ceiling, he found something new to be confused about.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What is it?” Carol asked, startling him. He forced himself to look at her and then pointed his index finger up at the skylight above them.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Sky’s clear,” he said. “Why’s the sky clear if it’s rainin’?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sure enough, through the large, rectangular skylight, the moon, still a few days from being full, shined down on the two of them, surrounded by a few twinkling stars, and not a cloud in sight.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Instead of acting like Daryl was crazy—because, objectively, in any normal circumstance what he said had been insane—Carol nodded knowingly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“There was a storm for me tonight, as well,” she said. “The same storm, I couldn’t say, but a tremendous one at the very least. I loathe storms. Thunder always turns me into a quivering little girl. I could hardly wait for my mother to stop trying to talk me to death this evening and let me alone so that I could disappear up here. It never storms up here; doesn’t even rain.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“M’kay, back up. So you’re sayin’ this room has different <em> weather </em> than the rest of the house? And you don’t find that to be like, I dunno, super fuckin’ weird?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Carol blinked at him, a strange expression on her face, like she wasn’t sure if she wanted to smile or frown.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Of course I do,” she said finally. “But like I already told you, this room has secrets.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Rooms ain’t alive,” Daryl said, wondering why that was something he would ever have to tell someone. “They can’t have secrets.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Carol merely shrugged.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“This one does,” she said. She then turned away from Daryl and went and pulled out the stool to the vanity. She sat down and laid her hands in her lap delicately. “Are you going to stay a while? If so, then please have a seat. Simply looking at how rigidly you hold yourself is giving me a backache.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What?” Daryl asked, staring at her dumbly. In response, Carol gestured at the floor beside the bookshelf.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I apologize for not having a second chair, but—and I trust you won’t take offense to this—you don’t strike me as the type of person who has an aversion to the occasional sit down on the floor. I’d say you could sit on the mattress, but that’s a bit more than I’m comfortable with, I’m afraid. Despite what the girls at finishing school liked to assert, I don’t make a habit of taking men to my bed."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Daryl squinted, trying to piece together what exactly this she just said to him. He thought he may have just been insulted, but to be honest that was the furthest thing from his mind. Besides, she wasn't wrong. Floors were plenty comfortable, and certainly less intimidating than a woman's bed. Even if that woman may not be corporeal. It was just good manners.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That being said, Daryl wasn't sure if he was comfortable sitting anywhere in this room. It was much more difficult to make a fast getaway if you were seated. Still, Carol did not seem to mean him any harm. His fear was stemming from the unknown, and, he figured, the best cure would be to make the unknown the known. Maybe the room did have secrets, and maybe he wouldn't be able to uncover all of them, but he had next to no information right now, and a lead to some answers was currently waiting patiently for him to come engage her in conversation. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"You been comin' up here every night since we met?" Daryl asked, still not moving from his spot near the door.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I've been coming up here nearly every night since I was a child. I don't see why that should have stopped."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"You're more scared of thunder than you are of a guy you don't know from Adam and who says he's from the future?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I am," Carol said. "You don't frighten me."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Why? I mean, no offense, but I'm not exactly thrilled about findin' a see-through woman wanderin' around the house I’m livin’ in. Doesn't seem crazy to be at least a little scared."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Don't misunderstand, I'm not judging you for your discomfort. I'm not stupid, I know that this is... unorthodox, to say the least. And perhaps I am unsettled by your presence, because I don't yet understand it, but it is the mystery of you that upsets me, not you as a person."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Why not?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Because you said you wouldn't hurt me," she said simply.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"And you believed me?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Daryl Dixon," Carol said in a calculated tone. "I have known enough disingenuous men in my lifetime to be able to recognize a genuine one when I see him." She gestured again at the spot on the floor across from her. "Please, sit."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Daryl wet his lip and regarded her. She was so calm and poised, as if she really did trust him. Did he trust her? He had no reason to. He had no reason to stay here in this unfathomable room that had its own weather.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As his brain told him to run, Daryl crossed the room to the bookshelf and pressed his back against the wall. He switched off the flashlight on his phone still clasped in his hand, and put it in his pocket. Carol tilted her head in bemusement, but didn't comment. Slowly, he slid to the floor. Wrapping his arms around his legs, he rested his chin on his bent knees and looked at her expectantly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I won't hurt you either," she said after a moment, and Daryl thought that it was possible he believed her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"What are you?" Daryl asked. "I mean, if you ain't a ghost then what?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I'm a human being. How about you?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"The same, 'sfar as I know." He stared at his hands as he began picking at a hangnail. She let him have the silence he needed to gather his thoughts. Eventually he peeked up at her through his bangs and asked, "You really in 1920?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"All year," Carol said with a small smile. "Are you really in 2020?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Ever since January," Daryl said, returning the same quip of his lip when she laughed at his version of her joke. "Do you believe me?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I don't know yet. Do you believe <em> me </em>?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Maybe," Daryl said with a half-shrug. "But I don't know how you and me can be in the same room together if we're a hundred years apart. The hell kind of secrets does a room gotta have to be able to swing that?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I don't pretend to know. The only things I know for certain are that my name is Carol Mason, I was born in the year 1900, and I believe, unequivocally, that whoever you are, wherever you're from, whatever <em> time </em> you’re from, you do not mean me any harm."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Daryl tried to find the words to respond but came up short. Instead, he thunked his head back against the wall, straightened one leg, and looked at her—really <em> looked </em> at her—for the first time.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Say you're tellin' the truth. Say you're some random lady born a whole-ass century before me. If all that’s true, then what's your deal?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"My deal?" Carol asked with a furrowed brow.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Who are you? Like, I know your name, but nothin' else. Are you like a princess or some shit?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"A <em> princess </em>?" Carol squinted at him. "I'm from Georgia. If you'll recall the United States is not a monarchy. Unless...Is the United States a monarchy a hundred years from now? What happened? How on Earth is that even possible?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"No no, there ain't any kings and queens or nothin'. I just meant that you're all fancy and pretty, and talk like you was raised real proper, and I dunno, you just seem kinda like how a princess would be."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A creeping smile spread across Carol's face.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Pretty as a princess, huh?" she said. "Perhaps you are a gentleman after all."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Fuckin' Christ," Daryl said, covering his face with his hand for a second. "I didn't mean it like that. You're just...You look...Aw hell." He shook his head and conceded defeat as a soft noise bubbled out of Carol. It sounded remarkably close to a giggle.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I am not a princess, but I'm flattered that you would think so, especially when I'm not even dressed. And to think I was feeling foolish for coming up here in my night clothes when I knew there was the possibility that you would show up. I promise I'm not usually so unkempt around company, but then, do you really classify as company? It’s not as though I ever invited you in.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Dunno," Daryl said, distracted, trying to figure out how she thought she looked bad. The gown she wore was clearly for sleeping, but it still hugged her curves, accentuating her chest and waist, and her hair was a long mane of springy curls. If that was what she thought unkempt looked like then he must look like he crawled out of the sewer to her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“To answer your question, my family has a certain level of affluence. Or they did once upon a time. You didn’t hear this from me, of course, but rumor has it that Mr. Mason, unable to resist the pull of the Seven Sins, drove his family into debt by spending money on gambling, drink, and women. It’s no problem, however, he and Mrs. Mason have worked out a solution. They plan to have their oldest daughter marry rich, ensuring that those pesky debts never rear their ugly heads.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Who’s their oldest daughter?” Daryl asked, already knowing the answer. Carol smirked at him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yours truly,” she said with a sour smile. “I am to be wed to Edward Peletier, whose family has fingers in several prosperous pies, like oil and coal. They’ve spent decades doing quite well for themselves.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Don’t sound too happy about it.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Of course I’m happy,” Carol said. “What’s not to be happy about? My parents have told me in no uncertain terms that my desire for higher education is selfish, and now they needn’t worry, since my future husband would never allow himself an educated wife. No, I imagine I will bear him several children and upkeep his house while he continues not lifting a finger for himself.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Sounds like a bit of a dick,” Daryl said, shuffling around, feeling awkward. “Do you like ‘em?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I would never speak ill of my husband,” Carol said. And then added, “So it’s a good thing he’s not yet. The man is insufferable. He’s never been told no in his entire life, to the point that he didn’t even ask me for my hand; merely took me by the wrist and slipped the ring on my finger, knowing I had no other choice.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Daryl looked at her hands laced in her lap.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Don’t see no ring,” he said. Carol scoffed. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I drag that weight with me everywhere during the day, but not up here. I’ve never worn that wretched ring up here. This is my place. Only mine. Or at least...it used to be.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“‘M sorry,” Daryl said, ducking his head. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No, I’m sorry. How exhausting it must be for you to listen to a woman prattle on and on. Ed told me that the first thing he would do after our marriage would be to quiet my mouth and teach me how to speak like a wife. He laughed when he said it, but I have a feeling it was no joke.” Carol drew her brows together and averted her eyes, suddenly downcast. Her purposeful, proper posture faltered as she brought a hand to her hair and started playing absently with her curls. She was a confusing sight—sad and defeated, still appearing to Daryl as an optical illusion. But then he realized that in the vanity mirror he could see that she had a reflection. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ghosts didn’t have reflections.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ghosts didn’t have fiances, or parents, or concerns about money. Those were things a person had. And Daryl found that this was horrifying information, because while he hated the idea of a ghost, it was still a concept he could understand. But this? Whatever was happening that made it possible for him to talk with Carol? It was uncharted territory. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Still, he didn’t like seeing her look so sad.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Don’t care that you got a mouth on you,” he said, trying not to mumble. “Hell, back when I was growin’ up my momma could out yell all’a us. And the girls my brother would bring back to our trailer every other night? You could fill a damn ocean with their attitudes. But that was alright. Meant they didn’t put up with my brother’s bull. Think a woman’s gotta get loud and smart sometimes, you know? To remind us guys that we ain’t shit.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Carol raised her gaze back to him and examined him closely. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’re so strange,” she told him. “Is everyone in the future like you?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Pfft,” Daryl said. “Nah. I’m pretty strange no matter what year I’m in.” He watched her laugh quietly to herself for a moment, debating. Curiosity getting the best of him, as it had all night, he asked, “Is there no way you can get outta marrying him?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sighing heavily, she said, “I don’t have much agency over my own life, Daryl Dixon.” She glanced over at the bed where the book she’d been reading still lay. “It doesn’t matter how much about the world I know, or what’s in my heart—my purpose is to fulfill other people’s wishes. That’s always been the case. Besides, the Peletier’s have influence, more than you could believe, and you don’t simply tell them no. Ed was my age during the draft and he dodged it expertly, just because he didn’t want to go, meanwhile even with the pretense of money we weren’t able to keep my older brother from dying in the trenches.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Daryl pulled up the best history timeline his brain could muster and searched the dates. Too late to be the Civil War. It had to be—</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Your brother was a soldier in World War I?” he said without thinking. Her eyebrows flew to her hairline.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Beg your pardon?” she asked. “<em> One </em>?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You said ‘World War I.’ The idea of a first world war presupposes the idea of a second.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh fuck, right, you don’t...shit.” Daryl sucked air through his teeth, realizing his mistake. “Never mind. Forgot I said anythin’.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Forget you said—Daryl! That was meant to be the War to End All Wars. Was it not?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Look, neither of us know what’s goin’ on here, right?” he asked. She nodded hesitantly. “What if I tell you somethin’ that you ain’t s’posed to know and it screws up the whole timeline or some other <em> Star Trek </em> shit? Or who’s to say we’re even in the same timeline? I’ve seen movies and TV that got crazy stuff like that, maybe that’s what’s happenin’.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Star <em> what </em>?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Exactly. ‘Til we know more we should be careful.” He rubbed his temples and added, “I don’t wanna end up in a time paradox, okay? I fuckin’ hate time paradoxes. Shit gives me a headache.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“‘Until we know more?’ Does that mean you intend on continuing to come up to this room?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I mean, I don’t gotta,” Daryl said, suddenly shy. “I just meant that I’m feelin’ kinda...I dunno. Invested? This ain’t exactly somethin’ that happens that you forget about by the time you’re eatin’ your Corn Flakes come mornin’, you know? But also I get it. You said this was your personal space. I can respect that.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I wasn’t discouraging it, Daryl,” Carol said earnestly. “If anything it’s the contrary. I admit that I am endlessly curious about you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah,” Daryl mumbled, blushing as he played with a loose thread on his sock. “Back atcha, I guess.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Not only that, but I feel like maybe your arrival here—the timing of it—is significant.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Whaddya mean?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I have been coming up to this room since I discovered it as a little girl, and the entire time I’ve known that there is more to it than I’ve ever been allowed to see. And with my wedding date so close, I was resigning myself to never knowing; to having this room be a friend who never trusted me enough to confide in me. But now you’re here, and perhaps that means I’m close to hearing the secrets I’ve waited my whole life to hear.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Can you never come back here again after you get married?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Ed intends to take me to Atlanta. His father is buying him a mansion that is worth enough money to pay off all my father’s debts. I suppose he sees it as a house for his family, but I know better. It’ll be a house I’m allowed to sleep in as I raise his children and tend to him. And if he does let me visit my family I know I won’t be able to come up here. For now, when I disappear at night no one notices, and if they do, they don’t care, as long as I’m present and decent when they wake. But Ed would never let me out of his sight, <em> especially </em> at night.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What about during the day? When he’s off drinkin’ like, afternoon whiskey with the guys or whatever it is rich fucks do?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The corner of Carol’s lip twitched at that.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You can’t come up here in the daytime,” she explained. At Daryl’s doubtful expression she insisted, “I’m serious. Try it. Tomorrow, when the sun is up, try and get into this room.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“If you say so,” Daryl said, shaking his head in defeat. “At this point I might be willin’ to believe anythin’. But I ain’t gonna worry about it now. When are you and this asshole gettin’ hitched?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“November 2nd.” She said the date like it was poison. “He claims it’s the only date all his family can attend, but I know that the choice was really just a sleight against me.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“How?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Carol took a moment, her hands clenching against her thighs as a new expression flashed across her face. Anger, Daryl realized a moment later. The whole time he’d been talking to her he’d been intimidated, but if he had seen what anger looked like on her he wouldn’t have stayed for a chat. The fire in her eyes was evident even with her weird air-brushed face. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The moment was fleeting, however, and she quickly composed herself, sitting pleasantly once again as though nothing had happened. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s election day,” she said, and while her voice was calm there was a bite to it that made Daryl uneasy. “I have been following the movement <em> ardently </em> for <em> years </em>, and this is his way of laughing in my face.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Movement?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“The women’s suffrage movement. I’ve read about every suffragette that’s ever lived. I’ve written letters to the senators without my parents’ knowledge. Daryl, I’ve even lied to their faces and took a train to Washington to attend a rally. If they had known that I had been there they would have chained me up.” Carol was getting incensed, her passion pouring out of her. She held up a single finger. “We’re <em> one </em> state away from ratification. It all comes down to Tennessee in just a little over a week, and Ed is certain it won’t pass the House, but Ed is a dunce. His family has been on the wrong side of history since abolition, and I know he recognizes those losses, because he is making me marry him on election day. He’s doing it because it ensures that even if the amendment is ratified, and even if Georgia removes all the red tape and lets us register, I won’t be allowed to go to the polls. The men can certainly go and drop off their ballots before coming to the church, but it would be absolutely inappropriate for a bride to care about such a thing on her wedding day. It’s so...the malice of it all is just... <em> fuck </em>.” Her hand then flew to her mouth and she looked at Daryl wide-eyed. From behind her palm she started to say, “I apologize, I know it’s not becoming for a woman to—”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No dude, you <em> should </em> say fuck,” Daryl interrupted. She stopped abruptly and stared at him in surprise. “That’s such a shit thing to do. It’s bad enough you ain’t allowed to vote, like fuck man, I forgot all about that, but the guy who’s s’posed to be your husband ain’t even on your side about it? So much that he’d rub your face in it? <em> On your wedding day? </em> Sounds like somethin’ my old man would pull, which, hell, that pro’ly says a whole helluva lot about my old man, but still.”<br/><br/></p>
<p>“Wait, if you’re from 2020...do you know if the amendment passes? Do we get the vote? Wait, don’t tell me, you’re not supposed to, we don’t want any time...what did you call it?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Time paradoxes.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yes, right, no time paradoxes.” She searched his face and gave a bewildered laugh. “I do not understand you. The way you speak to me...it’s like you see me as an equal.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Pfft, an equal? No way. With all them giant books you got over there? You gotta be way smarter than me.” Carol opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out, resulting in her kind of gaping at him, and so Daryl brought the subject back around. “These secrets this room’s s’posed to have...do you think they might help you get out of this shit somehow?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“My uncle built this house,” she said tentatively. “I never knew him—he disappeared shortly after I was born—and my mother has never been very forthcoming with information about him, but from what little I have gotten from her I have come to learn that he was, not unlike you, quite unorthodox. My mother called him an idealist, which I believe is her polite way of saying she thought him a fool. He never married, and whenever anyone asked him why he’d say, ‘Because this is not my time.’ And I always assumed that meant he just wasn’t ready for marriage, but ever since I met you, and I realized we had this distance between us, it made me reevaluate his statement.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m not followin’.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Carol shifted on the stool and leaned forward a little, as though telling a secret.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Consider this: What if what he meant was that it was <em> literally </em> not his time; that he did not belong in the time he was in? And what if this room was his way of finding his proper time?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Daryl mulled this over.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So what, then? You think the guy time traveled? That’d be a pretty damn cool trick, ‘cause even a hundred years from you we don’t got that yet.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m not making any conclusions. I’m simply speculating. His disappearance was never explained. To this day no one knows where he went.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Then maybe that’s our starting place.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What is?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Figuring out what the hell was up with your weird uncle. A weird dude built a weird room—seems like a good idea to find what we can about the guy.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I agree, but I’ve already tried. I can’t get any more information out of my mother’s side of the family. They prefer to pretend he never existed.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Which is weird in its own right,” Daryl pointed out. “Don’t sweat it though. I got somethin’ you don’t.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Which is?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Internet.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Carol furrowed her brow at him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What’s an internet?” she asked, and Daryl grinned.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Exactly. Look, this has all been a fuckin’ <em> lot </em> to take in at one time. Gimme a minute to try and put my thoughts in order, or at least lemme have time to take a <em> real </em> long walk outside, and then next time we meet we can start with the whole detective shit, okay?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“And you’ll tell me what an internet is?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yes, I’ll tell you what an internet is.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Carol nodded, satisfied. They stared at one another, momentarily frozen like they had been when Daryl first entered, but instead of fighting the instinct to flee, Daryl was fighting the desire to stay. Huffing a sigh, he pushed himself up and gave her a nod. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Tomorrow?” he asked.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Tomorrow at nightfall,” she agreed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He took one last look at her—pretty with softened edges. Taking hold of his new, silver handle below her antique, golden one he said, without thinking it through, “Later, Princess,” and ducked out of the room before he had a chance to see her reaction. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The second the door closed behind him he was startled by the walls shaking as a huge clap of thunder sounded. He took a deep breath, composed himself, and climbed down the narrow staircase, back to the storm.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i promise there won't be any weird time paradoxes. they give me headaches too.</p>
<p>i'm trying v hard to stick to my schedule where i alternate updating my two wips every other sunday, so next week i'm updating gg, and the next update of this should be up 9/13. thanks for continuing to give my weird story a shot. it only gets weirder from here! -finger guns or something-</p>
<p>later,<br/>-diz</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. iii. waxing gibbous: the internet</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The door didn't exist in the daytime.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>After everything he’d seen, Daryl didn't know why this was what he'd been skeptical about, but the first thing he had done upon waking had been to go through the hidden hole in the closet, and now, as he crouched in the narrow stairwell staring at the blank wall, he couldn't deny the facts, no matter how contradictory.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Fact: Twice now he had entered a secret room from this exact path.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Fact: Rooms, no matter how secret, do not just disappear.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Fact: The secret room had disappeared.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He ran his hand down the smooth wall, as if somehow that would cause a grand reveal, like rubbing a genie's lamp, but nothing happened. There was no moon cycle carving, and his silver, modern handle was nowhere to be found. The room had simply vanished, and Daryl was forced to accept it even as the concept melted his mind. Deciding that staying there any longer would cause his burgeoning headache to fully bloom, Daryl took one last look at the wall and showed himself back down to his room.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The storm from yesterday had tapered into a moderate, thunderless rain, and it provided a peaceful cadence as Daryl went about his morning routine. He took a shower—the old pipes groaning like ghouls but the water pressure surprisingly strong, even if it did take a full minute for it to get warm—and shaved his face, realizing his whiskers were growing a bit out of control since he’d been spending most of his time focusing on either house maintenance or hiding out in the woods. Personal hygiene tended to be the first thing that fell to the wayside when he was stressed or busy, but he suddenly found himself mildly concerned about his appearance, although he refused to evaluate as to why.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He dove into his duties for the day. The storm had brought with it a thick, impenetrable humidity, and Daryl came to the conclusion that the single window AC unit simply wasn’t gonna cut it if Dale really wanted to get the most out of the place, and so he made plans to get an estimate on what it would cost to install central air and how much of the original infrastructure would have to be sacrificed to do it. He made a special mental note to ask about what, if anything, would need to be done to his claimed bedroom upstairs, lest they mess with his closet and discover what he had already decided was information he intended to keep for himself.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Being Friday, there wasn’t much Daryl could do outside of making appointments for the coming week. An electrician would be coming by on Tuesday, and the air conditioner guy said he could squeeze him in on Thursday, and that was about the extent of phone calls Daryl could handle in a single morning. It’d be enough to satisfy Dale. Daryl picked up a shift at the drywall company for Monday and would update him on everything then.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>This meant that, effectively, Daryl was off for the weekend and could be left to his own devices. Which is how he ended up, hours later, sitting on the uncomfortable couch using his weak data signal to get several internet searches deep into research about the house. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Unfortunately, there didn’t seem to be anything of importance to find. There was the date the house was built—1890—and how much the property was currently worth on Zillow—more than he’d ever be able to afford—but nothing stood out to him as particularly odd. For all intents and purposes the house was just that—a house.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But he knew better. He’d seen with his own two eyes how atypical the place was. Growing frustrated with his house research, he tried searching for increasingly ridiculous things. First he looked up ghosts. Then time-traveling ghosts. It was only when he found himself looking up “women in secret rooms,” and ended up getting linked to what was sure to be deeply regrettable pornography did he decide to try a new tactic. Maybe he couldn’t learn about Carol or why she was here just yet, but he could try and brush up on his early 20th century history, if only to relate to her better when they met again.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>When they met again.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Already he was certain he’d be going back to that room to see her for their agreed upon rendezvous. Maybe he really was going mad. A rational person would have gone up to Dale the day after finding the secret room and told him, “thanks, but no thanks,” and quit on the spot, but not Daryl. No, Daryl was ten paragraphs deep in a Wikipedia article about the Second Industrial Revolution, just in case his new not-ghost friend happened to bring up the societal impact of improved steel production. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But what worried him more than his plan to climb up that stairwell come nightfall wasn’t his dedication to his American history lesson, but was that he was anxious about it. Not the type of anxious one would expect, but more like rollercoaster anxiety; a surge of adrenaline that wasn’t unpleasant. Excitement. He was excited.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted</span>
  </em>
  <span> to see Carol again.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clearly he was never finding his marbles after this. He was simply too far gone.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Even though he knew down to the minute the time the sun was supposed to go down, Dary didn’t make the trek up the stairwell right away. Staring out of the bedroom window at the darkening sky he was struck by the sudden fear that maybe the reason the door hadn’t been there that morning was because it never actually was there to begin with. Maybe he was crazy. As in, genuinely mentally ill. He didn’t think there was any psychosis in his family, but it was hard to know for sure because drug use had rendered both his father and brother more paranoid than most. Was it possible they weren’t suffering from the side-effects of meth addiction, but were actually out of touch with reality due to a brain chemical imbalance, leaving Daryl genetically predisposed to hallucination? </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It seemed unlikely, if only because Daryl couldn’t fathom any scenario where he was creative enough to make up an entire person, let alone all the mystery that surrounded her. No, he had never been known for his wild imagination, and he’d have to be pretty damn imaginative to create a personality as strong as Carol’s.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>If it wasn’t a psychotic break, however, what would happen if he went back up the stairs and the door was still missing? Not because it was a hallucination, but because it had just disappeared? Its entire existence didn’t make sense—was it really such a stretch to think it could evaporate into thin air at will?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He followed a water droplet with his eyes as it slid down the window pane, and admitted to himself that the real reason he was stalling had nothing to do with thinking he was going crazy. It was because now that he’d lived in a reality with Carol and her secrets in it, he didn’t relish the thought of living in one without them. He hadn’t realized, until that very moment, how </span>
  <em>
    <span>bored</span>
  </em>
  <span> he was all the time.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sure, he had a couple friends, but only because they’d all gone to school together since kindergarten and they were the only few people who didn’t care who his daddy was, or whatever new bullshit his brother had done, but now they were all off at college. They were living the lives they were meant to lead, and Daryl was, he’d thought, doing the same. He’d been resigned to working paycheck-to-paycheck and babysitting Merle for...hell, forever? But then Dale had given him an out, and now he’d suddenly been saddled with a mystery. It exhilarated him, and he didn’t want that feeling to go away. He didn’t want to go back to being bored.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ten to fifteen minutes after sundown, Daryl finally gave himself a mental slap and got his shit together. He could play Schrodinger’s secret door all night if he wanted to, but that wouldn’t do him a damn bit of good. Either the door would be there or it wouldn’t, but there was only one way to know for sure. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Getting to the stairwell was becoming second nature, and he got to the top quickly. He shined his flashlight on the wall and sighed with relief when he saw the moon cycle engraved in the wood, and his handle waiting for him to grab it, which he did without a moment’s hesitation, not even pausing to worry about the logistics of a disappearing and reappearing door.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His breath caught when he saw her, his fight-or-flight reflex having not quite gotten the memo that she wasn’t something to fear. But he swallowed the momentary panic down easily, and instead of fighting or fleeing, he smiled—small, but genuine—as a hello.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Carol was sitting on the stool to the vanity. When Daryl entered her head popped up and she looked at him in surprise, as though she had been completely distracted by examining her own reflection in the mirror. She was dressed differently, Daryl noticed. She was wearing an actual dress and not a nightgown. It wasn’t gaudy by any means, but the deep plum-colored fabric was cinched tighter at the waist, and the skirt was textured and stopped at her mid-calf, which would seem downright scandalous for her if her legs weren’t still hidden under thick, dark stockings.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl remembered what she had said about being embarrassed about wearing her night clothes in front of him, as if he was going to give a shit, and he wondered if this was her trying to find a balance between formal and pajamas. Was he meant to comment on it? He didn’t have the first clue on what he should and shouldn’t say to women in the 21st century, so knowing the right thing to say to her was damn near impossible. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Fumbling, trying to come up with a course of action, he muttered, quite eloquently, “Dress.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Carol furrowed her brow.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Come again?” she asked. It was possible she truly hadn’t heard him—her voice still sounded a little far away, like he had a tiny bit of water in his ears. Perfect. That meant he could come up with something smarter to say.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Dress,” he said louder. Son of a bitch.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Dress?” Carol looked down at herself and then back at him. “What about it?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothin’,” Daryl said quickly. “Just, you’re wearin’ one.” She squinted at him, and he could feel all the blood in his body pooling in his cheeks. Maybe he did want to go back to boring, if it would get him out of this. “Looks nice. That’s all,” he said in a rush. Carol’s face went from confused to surprised to bashful in the span of a single second, and when she rubbed the nape of her neck and ducked her head with a shy grin some of Daryl’s embarrassment abated. She seemed to appreciate the compliment.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I wasn’t sure if you would come,” she said a moment later, schooling her expression into something more neutral, and thankfully not dragging out the dress conversation. “I had no reason to distrust you, but when you weren’t here at the same time as me I became worried, which was foolish. Sundown wasn’t all that long ago, and we never agreed on a specific time, but I was beside myself with ridiculous thoughts.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What kind of ridiculous thoughts?” Daryl asked. Faking confidence, he walked over to the wall across from her and slid to the floor. He regarded her closer. Something was still off about her appearance; she still wasn’t fully solid. When she shifted in her seat to face him he could see the slight transparency of her body for just a moment—like a light flickering for a millisecond—before she was sitting still again and it wasn’t as easy to discern.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That perhaps I’d been too forward talking about my engagement; that perhaps I sounded ungrateful about the chance at weath, and selfish. And I worried, also, that I became too impassioned when discussing the movement. You seemed to be in favor of suffrage, but that doesn’t mean you wanted to listen to me prattle on and on about it.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I liked hearin’ you talk about it,” Daryl said honestly. “And I sure as hell don’t think you’re ungrateful or selfish. If I was you, you couldn’t pay me a hundred million dollars to marry a prick like that Ed guy.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The corner of Carol’s lip twitched, but she seemed hesitant. She said, “I know I’m not always the most well-behaved woman. I’ve been told it my whole life. My mother has made it quite clear that men don’t appreciate it when I demonstrate an interest in politics or literature. In fact, she’s quite educated herself, but you would never know it by the way she presents herself to my father. She says it’s a woman’s gift to be able to hide her intelligence so as to not intimidate a man. But you don’t seem particularly intimidated by me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, I’m plenty intimidated, princess,” Daryl said with a laugh. “But that don’t bother me none. Don’t go pretendin’ to be an idiot for my benefit. I haven’t known you long, but it’s been long enough to know you’re way too smart to act dumb.” When Carol frowned down at her lap where her hands were laced properly against her thighs, Daryl panicked. “‘M’sorry. Was that not the right thing to say? I ain’t good with words.” </span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, it was the perfect thing to say,” Carol told him, lifting her head up and regarding him with sad eyes. “I just wish it was something I heard more often.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh.” Daryl twisted his lips, not sure how to reply, but Carol saved him the trouble. She cleared her throat and sat up straighter.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Anyway,” she said seriously. “You promised to show me what an internet is.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. He was struck with the most absurd thought: It was entirely possible that he found her </span>
  <em>
    <span>cute</span>
  </em>
  <span>, which was a word that had never been in his vocabulary before. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, I did,” he agreed, pushing the thought out of his mind. He picked up his phone that he had set on the ground beside him and checked the signal. “Huh. Your weird, magic room has full bars. That’s somethin’ at least.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Full bars?” Carol asked.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It means I can get an internet in here,” Daryl  said. Carol nodded, clearly confused.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What is that you have in your hand?” she asked, studying Daryl’s cell with interest.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“My phone.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Your...I’m sorry?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“C’mon, you know what a phone is. You got phones in 1920, right?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course I know what a telephone is,” Carol scoffed. “But that does not look like any telephone I’ve ever seen.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, a hundred years sure did a number on the Alexander Graham Bell original, I’ll give you that,” Daryl said. He pulled that one from his memory banks, not his afternoon research, and felt proud of himself. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“How does it make calls?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh...I dunno, it just does? ‘Sides, barely anybody uses phones to make calls anymore.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“If you don’t use a telephone to make telephone calls what do you do with it?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Kinda like, everything,” Daryl said with a shrug. “Includin’ gettin’ on the internet.” Carol’s face was so contorted as she tried to make sense of anything Daryl was saying that he couldn’t help but snort. “C’mere, I’ll show you.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“But you’re sitting on the floor. Why don’t you come over here?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“‘Cause I don’t feel like standin’, and plus, I think you could use a good sit on the floor,” Daryl said, eyeing her perfect posture. “You’re always lookin’ like you got a literal stick up your ass keepin’ your back straight as a pole. When was the last time you just sat on the damn ground like a slob?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Like a...Daryl, I can assure you that if I did anything </span>
  <em>
    <span>slobbish</span>
  </em>
  <span> my mother would go into a conniption fit.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“‘Kay, but is your momma here right now?” Daryl asked. The sentence sounded so suggestive one would think he was trying to seduce her instead of trying to convince her to sit on the hard floor against the wall, where there wasn’t even the cushion of the rug. Carol considered this for a moment, and then, coming to a conclusion, got to her feet and crossed the distance between them cautiously. When she reached him, she stared down at the ground beside him like she was on the high dive and was searching for the courage to plunge into the water. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It ain’t gonna bite you,” Daryl said, and she jumped. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I know that,” she said defensively. To prove it she threw all caution to the wind and lowered herself down, keeping a hand on her waist. Daryl hadn’t considered her dress. It seemed loose enough, if not a bit tight around her waist. He didn’t know the first thing about fashion, let alone fashion from a hundred years ago, but he didn’t think she was wearing anything crazy restrictive, but maybe she did sometimes and the reason she kept her torso so straight was out of habit more than anything. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“My mother makes me wear these horrific corsets during the day,” Carol said then, confirming his suspicions as she scooted and tried to figure out how to situate herself properly against the wall. “I keep telling her they’re out of style, but she’s old fashioned.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t those things fuck up your ribs and squeeze all your guts together and shit?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“They certainly seem so,” Carol said. She squirmed around a little more before finding a comfortable position. She criss-crossed her legs and then smiled deviously at Daryl. “I used to get in trouble all the time as a child for going out and playing in the woods. I’d get my clothes filthy. I never cared, but apparently it was the end of the world if I got a single fleck of dust on my dress. I’ve spent so many years feeling like a porcelain doll stuck on her stand that I think I forgot that I’m not one.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Good to be reminded then. How’s that floor feel?” Daryl asked. Carol bit her lower lip, looking positively giddy. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Rebellious,” she said. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hell yeah. Princess needs to get off her throne more often, huh?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So it would seem,” Carol said, the softness of her voice having nothing to do with the strange dissonance between them. They stared at one another for a beat too long to be comfortable, and to save face Daryl hastily unlocked his phone and held it out so she could see it. Instantly it had her full attention.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What on Earth…” Carol muttered, eyes wide as she examined the screen full of colorful apps superimposed over the default background image Daryl hadn’t bothered to change—he’d never taken a picture of anything he felt like looking at multiple times a day.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, it’s all pro’ly real weird to you, huh?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You have a knack for understatement, Daryl Dixon,” Carol said, sounding awed. “Which part of this is an internet?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Kind of all of it. Or, well, most of it. Or...fuck, I didn’t think about how hard it’d be to explain all’a this shit to you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait,” Caryl said abruptly, tearing her eyes from the phone with what looked to be tremendous effort. “If you show me all of this information from the future...isn’t that the same as telling me about historical events that haven’t happened for me yet? What about those things you hate?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Time paradoxes?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, those.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, I thought about that,” Daryl said with a sigh. “Here’s what I figure. You meetin’ me at all is a change of the past, right? And this uncle of yours? If you’re right and he somehow did like, jump timelines or whatever, then he shoulda caused a billion time paradoxes, but I don’t think he did. There’s too much shit to keep track of, and besides, it’s not like I’m real in love with this specific timeline. Who’s to say if we were to screw it up that it wouldn’t turn into somethin’ better, not worse? I think we should just do whatever and hope we don’t like, accidentally let Germany win World War II or somethin’.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That is the second time you’ve mentioned World War II. What is it? When does it happen?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“See, that’s what I mean. I didn’t even mean to do that. It’s pointless to even try.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine, that’s fine, but what about World War II?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t worry about it,” Daryl said with a dismissive wave. “Now tell me your uncle’s name so I can look him up.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Carol frowned at him, but said, “Charles Bennett. He went by Charlie. What do you mean by ‘look him up?’”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ugh, how the fuck do I explain googling?” Daryl mumbled to himself, and then to her, said, “You got libraries, right?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, think of the internet as kind of a really, really big library. You know, if libraries had pop-up ads and memes.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“...Pop-up—”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothin’, never mind, it was a joke. Forget it. Point is, if there’s anythin’ big and important about your uncle I should be able to find it on here.” He gestured at his phone. “Here, lemme show you. It’s easier than explaining.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Carol watched, rapt with attention, as Daryl pulled up a browser and plugged “Charles Bennett” into the search bar. 181,000,000 results appeared not even a full second later, and Daryl realized he would need to be much more specific.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Your uncle wasn’t an MMA fighter born in 1979, was he?” Daryl asked dryly, doing a quick scan of the page.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Was that another attempt at a joke?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Harsh. I thought it was pretty good. Do you know where your uncle was born? And when?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“He was born in Macon, Georgia in 1870, but I don’t know the month or day, I’m sorry.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“‘S’fine, better than nothin’.” Daryl attempted a few different searches but still wasn’t finding anything of interest. “Maybe if I search for family members. You said you had a brother who was a soldier, right? What about the rest of your family? ‘Specially your grandparents on your momma’s side?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hm?” Carol blinked up at him. It took her a moment to realize he’d asked her a question, lost entirely in all the new things she was seeing on the phone. “Oh. Um, well, my maternal grandfather was a Civil War veteran. That’s one of the few things I know about Charlie, actually.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What is?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That he and my grandfather were at odds. My grandfather—Charles Bennett Senior—fought for the Confederacy, but Charlie was a progressive and grew to resent his father. According to my mother, the two of them hated each other, but as the oldest child and the only surviving male member of the family he inherited all of my grandfather’s money and assets when he passed away. Charlie was nineteen, and he sold all of my grandfather’s property, wanting nothing to do with it, and it gave him enough to build this house.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“How’d y’all end up in it?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“He willed it to my father, but it really was so that my mother would be able to live in it. When he was eventually declared dead after going missing my parents moved us here. That was an entirely different family scandal, because my mother is the youngest of three, and it would have made more sense for the house to go to my aunt. But supposedly my aunt and Charlie never got on at all, as she was always quite critical of how Charlie treated my grandfather. But while she’s never said it in so many words, I’ve gotten the impression that my mother was actually close to Charlie growing up. I think that’s part of why she isn’t willing to discuss him—a mixture of grief and wanting to put his disgraces to bed.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright, then that means what we know about your uncle so far is that he hated his dad, built a creepy house, and favored your mom. Not a whole lot to go on.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No, it’s not,” Carol agreed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m gonna see if anythin’ comes up when I look up your granddaddy.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright,” Carol said, poorly concealing her excitement at the prospect of seeing Daryl googling more stuff. It took some refining, but eventually he entered a search that led him to a website that seemed promising. He followed the hyperlink and began skimming it, when Carol muttered, “Oh my.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hm?” Daryl asked, glancing at her and seeing her covering her mouth with three fingers.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing, just…” She dropped her arm and squared her shoulders. “That’s a bit vulgar, don’t you think?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What is?” Daryl frowned, genuinely confused. He looked at the webpage and it took him longer than it should have to realize Carol was talking about a Victoria’s Secret pop-up ad. He bit back his laughter, not wanting to offend her, but he found it funny how he hadn’t even noticed it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, that’s one of them pop-up ads I was tellin’ you about. My friend Glenn was textin’ me last week, tellin’ me about how he was buyin’ lingerie for his girl, like I’d ever wanna know somethin’ like that, but now my Google algorithm’s all fucked up and thinks I wanna buy women’s drawls. I get these damn ads on everythin’.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I understand so very little of what you just told me,” Carol said, and Daryl did laugh some at that.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry, I know this is a whole lot to take in all at once. Basically, it’s just an advertisement. It’s not somethin’ I control or nothin’, it just shows up sometimes. You’ll see a whole bunch of them if I keep goin’ to different websites. Not all of them are gonna be like this, though, don’t worry.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Is that...do the women in your time period really dress like that?” Carol blushed, and Daryl knew he was red, too.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I mean, they’re usually not out walkin’ around in public in next to nothin’, but also like...kinda? Some of them do, anyway. But not all. Some girls dress real conservative. It depends on what they wanna wear. Understand, it don’t make a lick of difference to me one way or the other. I don’t want you thinkin’ I look at...I mean, clothes are clothes, right? It’s no big deal. Christ, I’m really not the person to ask about this, can we change the subject?” The room was suddenly very hot, and the longer he talked, the more Daryl became convinced the best thing to happen would be if he melted right into the floor. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well.” Carol cleared her throat. “They certainly look more comfortable than they’d be in a corset.” She gave Daryl a kind smile to put him at ease, and he returned the gesture.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Anyway, I think I found a blurb about your granddaddy,” Daryl said, getting the conversation back on track. “See? Says here he fought in the Civil War, died in 1888, and had three kids—Charles Jr., Mary, and Sophia. That sound right?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” Carol said, sounding breathless. “Mary is my aunt, and my mother’s name is Sophia. How does it know that?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Like I said, try and think of it as a big-ass library that’s a lot easier to find stuff in.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t understand how it works. Where is the information stored? Is there a place where it’s all located?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh hell, don’t ask me, I’m not computer scientist or nothin’, I don’t know specifics. Shit just sort of...exists. Not in any real place. It’s on the internet. That’s where it lives.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That doesn’t make any sense to me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“The more I talk about it the less it does to me, too. We can use the internet to look up how the internet works later, but first, look here. See how your uncle’s name is blue?” Daryl pointed at the screen and Carol nodded. “That means when I touch it it’ll take me to a different page that’ll hopefully have more information on it for us to find.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Get on with it then,” Carol insisted, excited once again. Daryl grinned and clicked the link that took him to an entirely different website. An old, poorly designed one, with nothing but words and a pale blue background.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“The hell?” he muttered, doing a sweep of the page, and then doing a closer examination when that first sweep clarified nothing.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What is it?” Carol asked.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s some kind of shitty database that your uncle’s name is on.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s a database?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Think of it like a book that has a bunch of information in it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So...most books?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, but like, more specific. Like names, or dates, or...never mind, it’s not important. What matters is figurin’ out why that link led us here.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“‘Alleged patrons of Audra d’Heur,’” Carol read the headline of the page aloud. She furrowed her brow in thought and leaned back, biting her thumbnail.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What is it?” Daryl asked.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That name sounds familiar, but I don’t know for the life of me as to why.” Daryl stayed silent, letting her think, when suddenly she snapped her fingers, making him jump.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You remember?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I do.” She reached up and undid the clasp of the same necklace she’d worn each night Daryl had seen her. She held the pendant up close to her face to look at something, and then held it out to Daryl with an eager grin. “Look at this.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl put his hand out and Carol let go of the necklace. It proceeded to fall straight through Daryl’s palm, landing on the floor with a loud, heavy thud. The two of them stared down at it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh. I don’t think I’m allowed to touch your necklace,” Daryl said eventually. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Evidently,” Carol said. Instead of picking the necklace up off the ground, she put her hand up in front of Daryl, as if waiting for a high-five.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What’re you doin’?” he asked.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Touch my hand with yours,” she said.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Suddenly wary and feeling as vulnerable as if she’d told him to strip naked, Daryl hesitated. She made a small noise of encouragement, and Daryl blew out a defeated breath as he lifted his own arm. Slowly, he brought his hand to hers, bracing for the discomfort he got whenever he touched someone else, but instead of making contact, their hands went clear through each other. Just like the pendant. Just like the doorknobs. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I thought that might be the case,” Carol said, although the shakiness in her voice suggested that predicting the outcome didn’t do much to prepare her for it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Right.” Daryl fought to understand this new development and came up empty. Resigned, he shrugged at her and said, “And you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>sure</span>
  </em>
  <span> you ain’t a ghost?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Daryl,” Carol said in a warning tone, making his lip twitch.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I hate this damn room,” he said then, rubbing his temple. Carol scoffed, and he amended, “Not you. I like you fine. But this room don’t make a lick of sense. It’s like an internet all its own.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Very funny,” Carol deadpanned. “Besides, I think you’re wrong. I think it does make sense, but only if you know the rules. And we don’t. Not all of them, anyway.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Aight. Then what </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> we know?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, for one thing, we seem to be becoming more visible to one another each day,” Carol said thoughtfully. “But despite that we can’t touch. We also know that we have different doors.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We know the weather’s different in here than in the rest of the house,” Daryl added. “And that I can’t touch you, but I can touch your stuff. I leafed through one of your books that first night.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Do my things look strange to you? Like the way we look to each other?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Nah, it’s all solid. You and anythin’ you’re wearin’ is all that looks weird.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Your, er, telephone, if you want to call it that, looks strange to me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You mean kinda transparent?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So all your things are solid to me, but my things ain’t solid to you.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Right. All my things, except my pendant.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, except that.” Daryl shook his head. “Tryna figure out what we know about this room makes me feel like I know even less about it now. Fuck it. What were you tryna show me on that thing before it fell through my hand?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>In response, Carol plucked up her necklace and lifted it up eye-level to him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Look at the inscription,” she said.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl angled his head to get a better look. The pendant itself was made from some sort of stone or crystal, and was a shimmering greyish-silver, cut in the shape of a round ball, making it look sort of like a full moon. And on the curve of the sphere, Daryl could just barely make out the letters “Ad’H.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Audra d’Heur,” he mumbled, and Carol nodded enthusiastically. He glanced at her. “Where’d you get that thing?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve had it my whole life,” she said, pulling her hand back and examining the pendant herself. “Truly. Since I was a baby. My mother told me once that it was gifted to me, but she never said by whom, and I suppose I never thought to ask at the time, being so young. I haven’t given it much thought since then. It’s sentimental to me only insofar as the length of time I’ve had it. There’s no other significance I can think of.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you think you could ask your mom about it?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t see any harm in trying. And perhaps you should ask the Google if it knows who Audra d’Heur is.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>The</span>
  </em>
  <span> Google.” Daryl couldn’t help his laugh. “You’re such an old lady.” Carol scowled and tried to hit his shoulder, her scowl becoming more severe when her hand went right through him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Just ask,” she said hotly, but Daryl could see she was fighting her own smile. “Honestly, you act as though I should know these things. Ask </span>
  <em>
    <span>Google</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, ma’am,” Daryl said with a lopsided grin. He typed “audra d’heur georgia 1800s” into the browser and pressed search. The first couple results were useless, but right before he gave up to try something else—because who goes to the </span>
  <em>
    <span>second</span>
  </em>
  <span> page of Google search results?—he found an Amazon link clear at the bottom that led to an obscure book called, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Audra d’Heur: The Wicked Witch of Georgia</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh dude, no, c’mon,” Daryl groaned. “Is alla’ this witch shit? Are we fuckin’ with black magic? ‘Cause listen, my life is shitty enough as it is, I don’t need to be cursed too. I’d rather deal with time paradoxes than witches. Hell, I’d rather deal with </span>
  <em>
    <span>ghosts</span>
  </em>
  <span> than witches.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Is there really such a thing? I’ve never put much stock in witchcraft, personally,” Carol said. Daryl stared at her in disbelief.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Seriously?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Right, okay. ‘I don’t believe in witches,’ she says to the guy from the future she met in her magic, secret room. Are you fuckin' with me?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright, alright, I see your point,” Carol said, holding her hands up in surrender. “But assuming witchcraft is real, how do we know Audra d’Heur was truly a witch, and not just another eccentric woman who was labeled as such? Does the Goo—does Google have more information on her?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Uhh, dunno, hold on.” Daryl did more searches and clicked on a few pages, giving them a brief onceover to get the gist before exiting out. “Not really,” he said a couple minutes later. “There’s that database your uncle’s on, but that site looks like it was made in fuckin’ 2003 and hasn’t been touched since, plus there ain’t much information on it ‘sides names. There ain’t even a Wikipedia article on this chick. It’s just this book, which is bullshit ‘cause I can’t even find a PDF version of it, so I’m gonna hafta buy it and wait for it to get shipped to the house.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I understood the part about buying a book,” Carol said. “But how long would that take? November isn’t far away, remember.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, it’s eligible for Prime, but it’s late in the day, plus it’s the weekend, so we’ll pro’ly not get it ‘til Monday,” Daryl said, vaguely irritated at the wait. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It will only take </span>
  <em>
    <span>two days</span>
  </em>
  <span> to place an order and receive a shipment? You’re joking.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Christ,” Daryl said, searching her face. “1920 must suck to live in.” Daryl then pressed about three buttons, entered an address, typed in the security code to his saved card on his account, and just like that the book was ordered.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m going to stop trying to understand,” Carol said when he told her as much. “But my God, Daryl, does that say it cost you </span>
  <em>
    <span>eleven</span>
  </em>
  <span> dollars? I don’t mean to make assumptions about your class status, and I hope you won’t take offense to this, but do you really have that kind of money to spend on a book that may tell us nothing?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl wanted to laugh, but truth be told, he was broke enough that eleven dollars was kind of a pain in the ass to lose. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s worth it,” he said simply, making a mental note to check the inflation rate between 1920 and 2020 later. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Carol said, awed by his sacrifice. “For helping me with this. You don’t have to, you know? It isn’t your responsibility. I feel like I should tell you that if you decide you want to go back to your normal life and forget all about this room and about, well, me, I won’t be resentful. I’d understand.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, well, my normal life ain’t all that great, anyways,” Daryl said. “‘Sides, if I can help you figure out a way to get out of that damn wedding you can bet your ass I’m gonna.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You have the worst mouth I’ve ever heard,” Carol said fondly. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Damn straight, princess. You should give it a try. Shit’s a lot more fun when you don’t act so proper all the time.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Carol ducked her head and laughed, and when she looked back up her smile turned into a big yawn. She covered her mouth, looking sheepish.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry,” she muttered.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“‘S’fine. Tired?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You would think with all the excitement that I wouldn’t be, but yes. I chase around my younger brother and sister all day, and they run me ragged.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s late anyways,” Daryl said, not actually wanting to leave yet, but also feeling a bit googled out. “I can go. Let you get some rest. I should pro’ly do the same. Haven’t been sleepin’ much lately, truth be told.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Me either. A lot on my mind, I suppose.” Carol took her lower lip into her mouth and regarded him. “When will I see you again?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Book should be here Monday. Could come back then?” What he wanted to say was that he was willing to come back the second the sun set tomorrow, but he couldn’t find a way to justify it without any clues to their mystery to bring. There wasn’t any etiquette in place for this kind of situation, of course, but it still felt wrong to ask the partially transparent woman from the past in the secret room in his closet if she wanted to hang out.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Monday is perfect,” Carol said, although Daryl swore she looked disappointed. Did Carol want to hang out with the partially transparent man from the future in the secret room in her closet? Daryl wasn’t sure what exactly the implications of that were, but he knew they made him nervous.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Monday it is,” he said. He got to his feet and held his hand out to help her up, until he realized he couldn’t. They both chuckled awkwardly as Daryl dropped his arm and muttered, “G’nite.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait a moment,” Carol said right as Daryl started for the door. He stopped and looked at her expectantly. “I have a question.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Have you…” She twisted her mouth and huffed. “Are you going to ask Google about me?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Daryl said without hesitation, shaking his head. The thought had already crossed his mind more than once, and he knew his decision on the matter, but Carol seemed surprised.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Why not?” she asked.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“‘Cause,” Daryl said honestly. “I’m scared to know what I might find out if I do.” </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>the best part of explaining the internet through daryl is that i only have to know as much about the internet as daryl does, which is not a lot. anyway, mysteries abound! what will they discover next? who's this weird witch?? how will they have a whole bunch of sex if they can't touch each other??? find out more on 9/27!</p>
<p>i'm so fucking tired, k bye,<br/>-diz</p>
<p>p.s. CARYL SPIN-OFF TV SHOW</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. ix. full moon: the witch</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Daryl hadn’t stopped thinking about Carol since he left her Friday night. He was constantly kicking himself for not coming up with an excuse to see her before Monday, because all he could make himself care about was her and the mystery they were unraveling together. As it was, his weekend passed by with him being utterly useless. He couldn’t even pretend to worry about the house—not that there was much for him to do besides live in it anyway. Not until he had professionals take a look at it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Without the secret room the house was lonely. Daryl came to this realization when he found himself wishing the cable company was open on Saturdays so that he could argue with them again about when they could get out to install the wifi, just to have someone to talk to. That was a new low. Besides, being alone never used to bother him—he was, more often than not, his only company, and when he wasn’t it was usually Merle being around causing a scene, and that had him praying for solitude—but this was different. With the creaking and groaning of the old house being his only means for conversation, Daryl, for the first time, felt the gravity of what it meant to be alone.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He slept outside again two nights in a row, impatiently waiting for Monday to arrive.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When it did finally roll around, Daryl felt silly for how excited he was, especially considering two of the things he was looking forward to were going to work and reading a book. (At least being excited to go back to the secret room seemed justified.)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That morning he put off leaving for work until the very last second, in case his delivery showed up early. It didn’t, of course, it wasn’t scheduled to arrive until that afternoon, and it wasn’t as if he’d have time to read when he was in the middle of putting up drywall anyway, but maybe he could have leafed through it during his lunch break.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Oh well. He’d have to make due with having it waiting for him upon his return. Something to keep his mind occupied while he waited for sundown.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Daryl wasn’t in love with his drywall job, by any means—before becoming in charge of the house, working in construction had been nothing more than a way to try and make ends meet each month—but for maybe the first time in his life he was craving social interaction. Even listening to the inane chatter of his dumb coworkers seemed preferable to another day of silence.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Through the bulk of the morning, Daryl listened to his coworkers, Oscar and Axel, exaggerate the sexual exploits they got into over the weekend. Daryl was reasonably certain that the only place Axel had been with the “bouncy blonde” he was fawning over was on a video on his computer monitor, not his bed, and he doubted Oscar really got his girlfriend off seven times, but he didn’t call them out. Instead, he let their embellished stories become a familiar background noise that felt almost nostalgic. It was as though, over the short period of time he’d been living in that house, Daryl had been stuck in a liminal space, and only now was he being reminded that there was a world outside the Victorian walls. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>When they broke for lunch, Daryl went and sat in the grass with his knees bent and took out his mediocre meal of a bologna and cheese sandwich and semi-stale potato chips. He finished his sandwich in four big bites, and was absent-mindedly popping potato chips into his mouth when Dale sought him out.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"How's it goin'?" Dale asked. He lowered himself to the ground beside Daryl with a grunt, his joints popping audibly. Daryl shrugged.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Goin' alright," he said.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"How's everything out at the house? Come across any surprises?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Well, wasn't that a question and a half?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Nothin's so broke that I can't call someone to fix it real easy," Daryl didn't lie. "Stuck in the runaround with the cable company tryna get the wifi installed, but there's nothin' surprising about that."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dale hummed in agreement, saying, "I'd be shocked if you found them to be perfectly reasonable and cooperative. You said you're getting a quote on the central air this week?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Mhm. And I got a guy comin’ to check out the wirin’ on the lights that are on the fritz. I'll be sure to let you know how much they say 'fore I drop any money down." Dale had given him a prepaid credit card to cover house expenses.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Good good. I trust you to recognize a bullshit deal if you see it. Wouldn't have hired you if I didn't."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Daryl grunted, acknowledging the compliment, and then clicked his tongue a couple times.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Hey," he said, now that the business talk was covered. "What all do you know about that house anyways?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"How do you mean?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Like, its history. You said it's been in your wife's family for years. Did they build it?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"No no, they inherited it by marriage, back in the early 40s."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"So they're sort of related to Char—er, to the people who built it? In-laws or whatever?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"That's my understanding. If my memory is to be trusted—which, mind you, I can’t guarantee—the house was built by my wife's great uncle. Then his nephew inherited it, married my mother-in-law, and when they passed it went to my wife and I."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Oh," Daryl said. His mind was busy trying to connect all the lines on the family tree. If Charlie Bennett was Dale's wife's great uncle, then that would make Carol her aunt. Did Dale have any information about her? Did he know how she died? Daryl didn't know how to ask that, even if he wanted to, which he ardently did not.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Any particular reason you were wondering?" Dale asked, shaking Daryl out of his web of mental calculations.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"No," he said. Okay, so this time he <em> was </em> lying. "Just curious. It's an old house. Bound to be a lotta history in it, right?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I suppose that's true. I'm sure if the walls could talk they’d have quite a few secrets to tell."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Pfft, Daryl thought. Dale didn't know the half of it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As expected, there was a thin Amazon package waiting for Daryl on the front porch when he got back to the house after work. He didn’t even wait to go inside before tearing it open. He used the end of his motorcycle key to puncture the padded envelope and ripped it apart. He pulled out a thin, hardcover book. It had <em> Audra d’Heur: The Wicked Witch of Georgia </em> typed across the top in a dramatic, gothic font, with a blurry, underexposed photograph of a random cemetery plastered on the cover. The author’s name was Mystic Nightshade, which was exactly the type of awful pename one would expect from someone who wrote a biography on an obscure witch from the 19th century. Daryl flipped it over, and on the back there was exactly one review, from The Savannah Witch Council, which simply stated: <em> This is an accurate account of Audra d’Heur’s life as we know it. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>So it wasn’t a New York Times best seller. That didn’t matter. All Daryl cared about was whether or not it had clues—<em> any </em> clues—to what was going on with Carol and him. It wasn’t like he was looking for a good beach read. This was about information.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Daryl let the envelope drop onto the porch, and he sat down on the top stair, setting his keys beside him with a jingling clatter. He cracked the book open, the new spine stiff, forcing him to press his thumb in the crevice between the pages to keep it from snapping shut. The first paragraph went as follows:</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Witchcraft has been around for a very long time. Centuries. For hundreds of years witches have been aware of the magic around us. There is a lot of magic around us. Some of it is dark magic and some of it is light. The world is very mysterious. Witches know this. Witches know about magic. This book will talk about one of those witches. Audra d’Heur. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Daryl wasn’t particularly well-read, but even he knew that the writing was...not amazing. Still, he pushed ahead, reading each and every sentence, lest he miss something important. At one point he even dipped inside to find a pencil to circle parts he thought might help them. He got up only three other times—once to take a piss, once to grab a box of dry cereal he planned to eat for dinner, and once to find the new pack of cigarettes he’d left on top of the piano. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>For hours he sat in essentially the same position, chain smoking and eating handfuls of off-brand Captain Crunch. He was a slow reader, and the low-quality of the writing didn’t help—the pages were stuffed full of superfluous and flowery descriptions that often did nothing but overshadow the facts, forcing Daryl to go back through it to pick them out—but by the time the sun was finally getting low in the sky he was over halfway through, and was itching with excitement at the prospect of telling Carol about what he’d learned. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He dog-eared the page he was on, placed the book under his arm, and went inside the house and up to his room, counting the minutes until sunset, one second at a time.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He was the first to arrive this time. He turned his handle and pushed the door open into the room, which was dark except for the light shining down from the ceiling where the full moon was shining through. It looked bigger than it had outside, and clearer too. There had been a slight overcast when Daryl had been on the porch, but above him now there was nothing but the perfect sphere against a black backdrop. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Daryl then considered the candles. He’d never tried to light them; wasn’t sure if he was able to. Well, he figured, there was one way to find out. He pulled his zippo out of his pocket and went to the candle closest to him. The lighter sparked twice before a flame appeared, and Daryl placed it over the wick, half expecting it to do nothing at all. On the contrary, the wick caught fire almost instantly, and Daryl was bathed in dancing candlelight. Add that to the list, he thought to himself, as he went over to the one on the opposite side of the door: The room allowed him to light the candles.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Once he was done he cast a glance around the room, feeling strange without her here, almost as if he was trespassing. He walked to the vanity and put a hand on one of the dresser drawers, before retracting it, not wanting to invade Carol’s privacy. He approached the bookshelf instead, scanning the selection but not touching anything. The first time he’d been here he’d had no trouble picking up and leafing through a book, but that was before he knew they belonged to anybody. It was absolutely nonsensical—everything in this room was effectively at least a century old, but looked as new as his own belongings did. Some of the books were even in the same condition of the biography of Audra d’Heur he held in his hand. It was impossible for two time periods to exist concurrently, and yet all the evidence said that was exactly what was happening.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Before he was able to get too existential over it, he heard the door opening, and he spun around in time to see Carol stepping over the threshold. She stopped mid-step when she saw him—surprised, perhaps, that he was there before her—but she quickly regained composure. She let the door close and offered him a shy smile as they approached each other. Once they were only a few feet apart her smile twisted into a bemused frown, and Daryl knew why.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“This is new,” she said, voice clear as a bell. She eyed him from head to toe and back again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah,” Daryl muttered, doing the same. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Carol was solid. Not trick-of-the-eye solid like she had been before, where if he didn’t look too hard he wouldn’t be able to notice the way light shined through her. No, she was as solid as the room around him, looking every bit as real as any person Daryl could meet on the street. If she had looked like this that first night, he would have never thought she was a ghost. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>With this new perspective Daryl realized how much of her he’d been robbed of during their previous visits. Her colors were vibrant. The auburn of her curls was rich and glossy, and the pastel blue of the nice dress she’d donned tonight was bright and brought out the color of her eyes. Across the bridge of her nose Daryl could make out a smattering of freckles, and even a couple pimples on the side of her chin. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Carol existed. Any lingering doubt he might have had about that was gone in an instant. Carol existed, and she was <em> beautiful </em>.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I take it you see me as clearly as I see you?” Carol asked. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah.” He didn’t know what else to say. He suddenly felt tongue-tied and stupid, like an awkward middle school boy standing in front of a pretty girl. Carol then made it infinitely worse by saying,</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I knew you were handsome, but I had no idea just <em> how </em> handsome until right now.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Stop,” Daryl muttered, blush blooming. Carol let out a delighted giggle.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’re red as a ripe strawberry. Is it always this difficult for you to take a compliment?” Daryl casted her a deadpan expression, which was ruined when she giggled again and the corner of his own mouth twitched. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You ain’t so bad lookin’ yourself,” he said, so quickly it was possible she didn’t even understand it, but he changed the subject before she could ask. “Got this in the mail today. Read about two-thirds ‘fore sundown.” He showed her the book. She reached out instinctively, and let out a frustrated huff when her hand went through it. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I forgot,” she said. “And it looks so real today that I’m almost surprised that I still can’t touch it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Somethin’ new to put on the list of things we know about this room, I guess. Just ‘cause stuff looks solid don’t mean it is.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“That does beg the question as to why we are appearing solid all of a sudden, does it not?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I mean, we’ve kinda been gettin’ more solid each time we meet up here, right? Guess you can only do that so long ‘fore you reach, like...ultimate solidness? I dunno.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Ultimate solidness,” Carol repeated with a grin. “I suppose you’re right. But that doesn’t answer why that’s been happening in the first place.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m gettin’ pretty used to every answer we get about this place just makin’ a bunch more questions we gotta figure out.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well, then perhaps we should see what answers we can come up with tonight so that we can get started on whatever comes next. I’d like to hear what you discovered about Audra d’Heur. And I found out a few things myself.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh yeah?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Mhm. I may not have a Google to ask, but I can still sleuth,” Carol said, holding her head up high. Daryl laughed. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Don’t worry, I ain’t underestimatin’ you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Good. Then shall we sit?” She gestured at the floor across from the vanity. Daryl smirked at her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You sure you wanna sit on the ground again, princess?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well, as improper as it is, it turns out your assessment was correct—sometimes a princess needs to take a step off her throne.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Daryl barked out a laugh and then bit his lower lip to rein himself in. What the hell was it about this woman that made him act like a giddy schoolgirl? To cover his lapse, he waved for her to follow, and the two of them made themselves comfortable in what was becoming their regular spot on the hardwood floor. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You wanna tell me what you found out first?” Daryl asked, trying not to grin at the prim and proper way Carol was smoothing out the skirt of her dress, her legs out straight in front of her, one draped over the other. “I got a lot to cover here, and we still got the rest to go over.” He set the book on his lap and patted the cover.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Alright,” Carol agreed. Her hand flew to her neck, where she took hold of her pendant and held it between two fingers. Daryl could see it better now. The stone was much prettier than it had seemed the other day, and it was iridescent, the greyish color changing hue depending on the angle. Audra d’Heur’s initials, though small, were engraved deeper than he thought. “Remember how you told me to talk to my mother about this?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Mhm. Did you?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I did indeed. And she deflected the question at first, which did nothing but raise my suspicions about its origins. Finally, I managed to wear her down with what she called incessant probing, but what I call persistence. She admitted that it had been a gift from my Uncle Charlie.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No shit?” Daryl asked, raising his eyebrows.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Evidently the day after my birth he gave it to my mother and made her swear that she would give it to me as soon as I was old enough to wear it. And then he continued to bring it up every day for nearly a week, telling her not to forget. She said he was adamant to the point of annoyance...and then told me that he and I had that in common.” Carol rolled her eyes. “She said that the last conversation she had with him was about the pendant. He told her once more not to forget, and she assured him, perhaps a bit exasperatedly, that she wouldn’t, and he thanked her, and then after telling everyone goodbye he took his leave. He came home, to this very house, and no one ever saw him again after that.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“That’s weird as hell.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I agree. What’s most curious to me is his insistence. It’s one thing to leave a gift for your niece, but my mother made it sound as if he was nearly beside himself with worry that she might not follow through with her promise.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Makes you wonder what could be so damn special about that necklace.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’ve no idea,” Carol said, shaking her head with a sigh. “I know next to nothing about it. It’s made of some sort of crystal, but I couldn’t tell you the name. It started with an F, I believe. Or an H? I’m not certain.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I don’t know shit about all that hippie crystal shit anyway,” Daryl said. “Though our witch here might’a dabbled in it.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Tell me about her,” Carol said. She scooted back to get comfortable, holding her elbows, and looked up at him expectantly with bright, blue eyes, as if waiting to be told a riveting tale. Daryl wasn’t sure how good a storyteller he was, but he could at least give her the facts he gathered over the course of the evening.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“‘Kay, well, she was born in 1820,” Daryl started, opening the book and flipping through the pages to find the parts where he wrote in the margins. “Her daddy was a Haitian immigrant, and her momma was a freed slave. Accordin’ to this—which ain’t great, by the way, this chick needs to take a few more creative writing classes—her daddy was brought up practicin’ voodoo, and her momma was a seer.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“A seer? What, she predicted the future?” Carol asked, one eyebrow raised.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hey, I’m just tellin’ you what the book says. You wanna hear it or do you wanna talk about how you don’t believe in magic or whatever?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Alright, fine,” Carol said. She gestured for him to continue. Daryl snorted.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Dork,” he muttered fondly under his breath. If Carol heard him she didn’t say anything. “Anyway, the book says Audra was some kind of all-purpose witch. Like, she didn’t do voodoo, but ‘cause of her daddy she knew how it worked, and she was, uh, what was it they called it?” He skimmed his notes until he found what he was looking for. “She could ‘see through the veil,’ I guess.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“The veil?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Like what separates life and death.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“...Alright.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Chill, Agent Scully, lemme get through this.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Agent Scully?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s a character from a TV show.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Nothin’. Forget it. I’ll explain television and <em> The X-Files </em> to you some other time, but let’s focus, yeah?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’re the one who brought it up,” Carol said in defense, but waited for him to continue.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So our witch here got started by doin’ fortune telling and makin’ love potions.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em> Love potions? </em>” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah, guess that’s what made her real popular. She traveled around Georgia peddling homemade love potions.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Did they work?” Carol asked with a cheeky grin.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Dunno, never drank one,” Daryl said flatly, making her laugh. “Anyways, from what I can figure, the fortunes and love potions was what she used as a front, but the real bucks came from the off-menu magic. She was real big with women ‘cause she’d put hexes on any guys who gave ‘em grief, and for people she <em> really </em>liked she’d perform actual spells. She was into all that astrology shit—you know, stars and planets and all’a that—and most of her real magic was based in it.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You do realize how ridiculous this sounds, don’t you?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m not sayin’ I’m jumpin’ on the ‘magic is real’ train, but if your uncle was involved with this chick and this room was the result, then shouldn’t we at least consider that there might be a bit of truth in it? No matter how ridiculous it sounds?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Carol frowned, looking conflicted. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It just seems to me that this room and all the things it's hiding are so much more complicated than can be explained by a common fortune teller. What was she meant to have done? Read my uncle’s palm and told him it was his destiny to build a house? There has to be more to it than that.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Maybe she’s more than a common fortune teller,” Daryl said with a shrug. “Maybe she was real powerful and had to pretend to be the love potion lady so people wouldn’t get suspicious.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Do you believe that? Do you believe in magic?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I dunno what I believe,” Daryl said honestly. “But I know what I seen. I seen this room, and I seen <em> you </em>, and that makes it kinda hard to be a skeptic, you know?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I suppose,” Carol said. She reached up and held the pendant again, rubbing it between her fingers. “What else is in the book? You still have some left, wasn’t that right?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah,” Daryl said. He turned to the page he dog-eared. “Looks like there’s a couple more chapters talkin’ about what happened to her. Sounds like she went out like your uncle—disappeared without a trace. Though she had made lots of enemies, too. She coulda gone on the run, or maybe one of ‘em got to her before she could, if you get what I mean.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I do,” Carol said with a slight grimace. Daryl thumbed through the remaining pages, and abruptly stopped when he came to the last chapter. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh man,” he said, skimming quickly and then holding the book out for Carol to see. “Look at this.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What is it?” Carol asked, leaning in, and Daryl could swear he could smell the faint scent of perfume.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Um.” He cleared his throat, forcing himself to not think about how close to him she was. “I think they’re transcribed diary entries.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“From Audra?” Carol asked, looking up at him incredulously.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah, apparently.” He pointed at the blurb at the top. “A lot of the entries got lost or damaged, but these are ones they were able to save.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Read them to me,” Carol said, sitting straight again. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Not great at readin’ out loud. Trip all over my words.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“That’s alright. Please? I can’t hold the book, and besides, I like your voice.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh,” Daryl muttered. “Uh. Okay.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Embarrassed and shy, Daryl read, in a stilted tone, the first few entries, blushing the entire time:</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> 17th of January, 1842 </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Client from November was wed to her beloved on the first day of the new year. She is now asking for a potion to enhance her fertility as she wishes to be with child after her next cycle. I encouraged her to make the attempt without my assistance. She then asked if I had anything to make her attempts more enjoyable. I wished to ask her how it was that she loved this man so deeply that she went to a potion maker to ensure their future, but does not enjoy it when he takes her to bed. I refrained and provided her with an herbal remedy. I allowed her to take it at half-price out of pity. Poor girl. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> 21st of May, 1849 </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> The new moon is tomorrow. I plan to start my experiment at sundown. I expect to complete a full documentation of the results once the full moon arrives.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> 5th of February, 1864 </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> The butcher’s son came to me this afternoon and demanded, in no uncertain terms, that I give him a potion to make the preacher’s daughter fall in love with him, because yesterday she told him she would rather wed the cow he most recently butchered than spend another moment in his company. I gave him a potion I've saved for a special occasion, free of charge of course. As he stated, he is a man who intends to get what he deserves, and who am I to argue? I told him to drink two fingers’ worth every day starting next week when Jupiter is most visible and once he’s done this he will get what he deserves. I neglected to tell him the potion is imbued with a spell intended to cause impotence. I also neglected to mention that the preacher’s daughter will wed his brother approximately one year from now. Get what he deserves indeed. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> 11th of September, 1883          </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> A woman came to me just after dawn with a blackened eye, stating that her husband has been putting hands on her. I referred her to my dear friend north of here, who is more proficient in protection than I, and studied under Laveau during her years in New Orleans. She will take care of this woman. I, on the other hand, will take care of the husband. The timing is perfect with the upcoming lunar event. If I am successful she needn’t worry about him again. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Alright, well I definitely think I like her,” Carol said, interrupting Daryl. “But I feel I should point out that she has mentioned the moon more than once now.” Daryl, who was still trying to get over the mortification of reading that first entry, graciously accepted the interruption.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Makes it more likely that she’s involved with all’a this. You get that, right?” he said. Carol nodded slowly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I promise I’m not a fool. Between the door, rug, and skylight it would be quite stupid to not make the connection. I never knew if the moon was a crucial part of this room, or if my uncle simply liked it as a decoration. However, I’ll admit it, this does lend credence to your theory.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Daryl looked up at the skylight where the full moon was still beaming, big and bright, on the other side of the glass. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I got a weird thought,” he said suddenly. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What is it?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“We don’t know why we get clearer to each other every time we come in here, ‘cause ‘s’far as we know nothin’ has changed, right?” he said, turning his attention back to her. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What if somethin’ <em> is </em>changin’, though? Somethin’ that changes every day?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Carol searched his eyes for a moment in silence, and then looked up at the skylight as well.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You think it’s because of the moon?” She didn’t say it like she thought it was a stupid idea, but Daryl felt insecure about it anyway. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Just an idea,” he said. “Makes sense in a ‘that isn’t actually possible’ sort of way, like everythin’ else in here. The moon gets clearer every day, and so do we.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“And tonight it’s full so that’s why we can see each other perfectly,” Carol said, finishing the thought. When she looked at him again she was grinning. “That’s brilliant.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s crazy is what it is. And it’s not like I can prove it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Sure you can,” Carol said, sitting up on her knees, suddenly eager. “If you’re right, then tomorrow, when the moon starts waning, we should start fading away from each other again.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“And keep fadin’ until the new moon.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Exactly.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So to test the theory we just gotta...both come back up here every day and see if it changes.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yes. I mean, if you want to. I know that you have a life outside of this. I can’t ask you to spend all your time up here with me. Surely you have your own work, and family, and...a woman who wonders where you go at night.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Pfft,” Daryl said. “Not likely. Right now my job is livin’ in this house and fixin’ it up ‘cause no one’s lived in it for a couple years, and the only family I got is my brother, and our relationship is the ‘absence makes the heart grow fonder’ type.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“And you don’t have a woman?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Fat chance,” Daryl said, ducking his head. “Ain’t no woman in all’a Georgia who wants to pay me any mind.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Now I don’t believe that for a second,” Carol said. Daryl peeked up at her through his bangs, almost expecting her to be making fun of him, but she seemed genuine, which was confusing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Why not?” he asked, in spite of himself.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Because you’re attractive, kind, and intelligent. Surely you could have your pick of women. Any one you want.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Daryl let out a sad laugh, and said, “You just think that ‘cause you’re used to douches like Ed, and guys who think you shouldn’t vote or sit on the floor ‘cause it ain’t ladylike or whatever. If you lived in my time period you’d realize that I ain’t anythin’ special. I’m just some country hick with no money and a family name that’s the equivalent to dog shit around here.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I don’t think that because of the men I’m used to. I think that because of the man you’ve proved yourself to be.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Daryl stared at her until he couldn’t anymore. He looked back down at the book and said, “Point is, I’m free, so if you don’t mind me comin’ by for a while at night, then I’m happy to do it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I don’t mind. In fact, I welcome it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh.” Daryl scratched his scalp even though it didn’t itch. He scanned the page he had open on his lap, not really taking any of it in, until something caught his attention. “Hey,” he said abruptly, pointing at the passage he was reading. “You said that your pendant is made out of a crystal that starts with an H, yeah?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Or an F. Or now that I think about it, it may have been a T.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Okay, but read this entry. I can’t do it ‘cause I can’t pronounce whatever the fuck that H word is.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Carol furrowed her brow at him, but after a beat she came up beside him and read the short paragraph.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> 20th of April, 1889, </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> I’ve found him. The planets say he’s the one, but their approval hadn’t even been necessary. I knew it upon meeting him. He is coming back next week for another reading and I will give him the hecatolite pendants and tell him what he must do. Once he has them, then I will go. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Do you think she’s referring to Uncle Charlie?” Carol asked breathlessly. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Could be.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It says ‘pendants’ plural. Is that a mistake, or is there more than one?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Dunno. Somethin’ coulda easily been lost in translation if they were typin’ up her old diaries. But maybe? Here, hold on, I wanna see somethin’.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Carol’s puzzlement turned to excitement when she realized he was pulling out his phone.   </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’re going to use your google?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah,” Daryl said, unable to help his grin. He pulled up a browser and typed ‘hecatolite’ into the search bar (after misspelling it twice). When the results appeared he gaped for a moment, and then covered his face with his hand, laughing silently.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What?” Carol asked. “What's it, what’d you find?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He dropped his hand and said, “I searched the crystal, and turns out it has another name. Check it out.” Daryl held out his phone for Carol to see and waited for her to put the pieces together. When it all fell into place she looked at him with wide eyes, and then barked her own laugh.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well, that’s a bit on the nose, isn’t it?” she said. Daryl just shook his head incredulously, feeling so overwhelmed that he was actually calm. He looked at his phone screen again and snorted at the one-word colloquial name right at the top:</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Moonstone. </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>sorry that this chapter is 1. late 2. shorter, and 3. kind of an info dump. there will be more action soon, promise. they're just still gathering clues. </p>
<p>schedule shouldn't be any different even tho this is a little late. next update should be 10/11</p>
<p>k love u, bye,<br/>-diz</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. v. waning gibbous: the journal</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Daryl stood at the window in the bedroom and watched the sun get lower and lower in the sky, and with every inch it dropped his stomach went with it. His nerves were off the charts, and for the dumbest reason possible. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Was he afraid of the growing mystery he’d fallen deep into? Not especially.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>What about the implications of having a portal through time in his temporary house? Nah, he’d started to get used to that.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>No, what had him fidgeting and chewing on his lower lip until the skin broke was the fact that he was about to go hang out with a pretty girl. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was one thing to go meet Carol to try and suss out the details of the secret room, but he didn't have anything new to bring to the table today. The main reason he was going to go up those creaky, narrow stairs was because she asked him to. And what were they supposed to talk about? It wasn't so much the lack of conversation topics, but rather the overwhelming amount of them that had Daryl feeling paralyzed. One hundred years lay between them, and he—all awkward and reclusive—was meant to bridge that gap. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl could hardly get through a normal conversation with his peers without getting tripped up. This felt like a big ask.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But the rotation of the Earth didn't care about his reservations. Too soon the sun dipped below the horizon, and Daryl knew, without even looking, that the door was now awaiting his approach.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She was in the middle of lighting the candles when he entered. She jumped a little when the door swung open, but composed herself quickly with a shy smile.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Hello," she said, shaking the match in her hand to extinguish the flame. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Hey," Daryl muttered. She took a step towards him and he willed himself not to stiffen as she regarded him closely. Heat bloomed in his cheeks under her scrutiny, until he finally said, "What?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I think you were right," Carol said then, her eyes still sweeping the length of his body. "You're not as solid today."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Letting go of some of his tension, Daryl shifted his focus to examine her as well. It was subtle—subtler than it had ever been—but he could just barely make out the faintest hint of transparency along the edges of her body, as though her outline had been blurred.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You too. Guess that means, what? That the moon controls this room?” The words sounded so silly when he said them aloud.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That certainly seems to be the case. At least with the evidence provided. I suppose time will tell if your theory continues to hold true.” She tsked her tongue a couple times. “A pity, really,” she said, her gaze on him not any less intense. “It’s nice to see you so clearly. I don’t relish the thought of you fading away.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Daryl said. He wasn’t thrilled with it either, but he was too shy to admit it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you wish to talk about tonight?” Carol asked. Daryl rubbed the nape of his neck.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t got anythin’ new. About all’a this, I mean. Not since yesterday.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t say we had to talk about this room. We’re excellent at sleuthing together, but it needn’t take up every moment.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Perhaps instead of focusing our attention on the happenings around us we can simply talk as two normal people would. As friends.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The term “friend” had never been more daunting.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He said, “Friends ain’t never been my strong suit.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We don’t have to be friends if that’s too much,” Carol backtracked quickly. “It’s just that our situation is unique, in the extreme, and I thought that since we have no one else in our lives who could possibly understand...but perhaps that was presumptuous of me to think that you would want—”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey. I don’t mean that I don’t wanna be your friend,” Daryl said, cutting her off mid-sentence. He took a step towards her involuntarily, noticing only when he was suddenly in front of her inside her personal space. Swallowing, he clarified, “I just meant that before you decide you wanna keep me around we should shoot the shit for a bit first. You might think I ain’t all that great to be friends with. Not the other way around.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Why would I think that?” Carol knitted her brows together and searched his eyes. Daryl shrugged, ducking his head.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Dunno,” he mumbled. “Just never really been that close to nobody. Any friends I got I got by accident. Don’t got the first clue on how to do it on purpose.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I see,” Carol said. Daryl hazarded a glance up at her and saw her expression was warm. “Well, I’ve made a friend or two in my life. Perhaps I can be your tutor.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Perhaps,” Daryl echoed, cracking a small smile. “What do I gotta do first?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, getting to know one another seems like a wise place to start, wouldn’t you think? It’s strange how I feel as though I know you deeply, and yet not at all. You could use your Google to learn all you want about me, but to me you’re a blank page.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Guess that’s true.” He didn’t mention that he still had no plans to look her up online if he could help it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Then let’s rectify the situation. Shall we sit?” She gestured to the wall, a gleam in her eye, and Daryl snorted.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You just want an excuse to sit on the floor.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Would you deny me the pleasure?” Carol asked with a cheeky grin that put Daryl much more at ease just from the sight of it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“‘Course not.” He meant to say it playfully but it came out sincere.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The two of them sat down in what had become their respective spots. Carol adjusted the skirt of her dress and bent one leg inward. Her clothes were looser today, and Daryl suspected she had done it intentionally, having planned to be on the ground. Daryl smiled privately to himself, thinking about her changing out of her constricting, posh day clothes and into a dress that flowed more freely. He then suddenly became vexed when he thought about what a thrill it seemed to be for her; that to sit on the hardwood floor was a form of rebellion. Did they really have her so caged? And how much worse would it get once she married Ed?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you alright?” Carol asked. Daryl shook himself out of his thoughts and nodded.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Good.” She cleared her throat, resting her laced hands in her lap in the way Daryl had come to expect. “You never did tell me,” she said after a beat, “how you came to own this house in the first place.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t own it. Pfft, I don’t have the coin for a place a quarter as nice as this. Nah, I’m takin’ care of it for a guy I know. He’s payin’ me to fix it up so he can sell it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sell it? To whom?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Dunno. Been in this guy’s family—or his wife’s family—for years. But she passed away a couple years ago and he don’t wanna stay in it without her, and he don’t got any kids to pass it on to. He wants it to be in top shape so he has enough people interested that he can be choosy about it. He said it ain’t about the money. I guess he’s hopin’ to find someone who loves the place as much as she did.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What a beautiful testament for his love for his wife.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“How do you mean?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“If it’s true that this house will survive a hundred years, then it must be special, secret rooms aside. He can’t be in it without her, but he knows it was important to her. He could easily give it to whomever flashes him the biggest stack of cash, but instead he’s searching for someone to care for it as she did. He must have truly loved her to put in all that work.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. I think if he could he’d keep the place, but it’s just got too many ghosts. Memories of her, I mean. If only he knew what was really inside here, huh? Little did he know those weren’t the ghosts he shoulda been worryin’ about.” At Carol’s raised eyebrow he snorted and said, “I know, you don’t gotta say it. You ain’t a ghost.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I am a princess.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s right,” Daryl said with a smile. “My mistake.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“If you’re only here to fix the house then how long do you intend to stay?” Daryl thought he caught a hint of shyness in her tone.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Few months. I’m pro’ly gonna head back to my super excitin’ life in November, assumin’ everythin’ around here looks kosher.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah,” Carol said, looking downtrodden. Daryl had the impulse to nudge her shoulder with his until he realized that he couldn’t.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What is it?” he asked instead. Carol twisted her mouth and gave him a one-armed shrug.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing. I was simply wondering how long I’d be granted the pleasure of your company, and November seems so soon. But then, I won’t be coming back here then either, will I?” Her sad expression turned bitter, and Daryl saw her rub her thumb over the skin of her left ring finger.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey,” he said softly. “Don’t be like that, alright? I think we’re close to somethin’ here. Somethin’ that might save you from the bullshit hand you’ve been dealt.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“But what is it?” she asked helplessly. “And what if we discover it too late?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl didn’t have any more answers than she did. He was working entirely off of a handful of confusing clues he couldn’t yet fit together, but his gut instinct told him that he was right—they were onto something big, and it’d give him a way to save her. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Or at least he fucking hoped it would.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, you wanna watch a movie?” he asked abruptly. They weren’t solving any mysteries tonight, and he didn’t feel like lamenting the fact for their entire limited time together. Carol furrowed her brow, shaking her head slowly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Beg your pardon?” she asked, and Daryl grinned.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You got movies in 1920, don’tcha?” Daryl searched his memory banks and found that he didn’t actually know for certain. Not for the first time since meeting Carol did Daryl rebuke himself for not paying better attention in school. (Although, in his defense, there was no way he could have predicted back then just how applicable history class was going to be to his life.)</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We do, yes. I saw a film in Atlanta for my brother’s eighteenth birthday, and was going to see one when I snuck away to Washington DC for the suffrage rally, but I was low on pocket change and it was much more expensive there. Twenty cents, if you can believe it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Remembering that the last time he went to the movies it cost him twenty-five dollars for a ticket and a bucket of popcorn, Daryl agreed that twenty cents was unimaginable.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, you don’t need no pocket change if you wanna watch a movie with me right now.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Carol squinted at him, confused, and in response Daryl pulled out his phone and waved it tantalizingly in front of her. Her eyes grew wide as she beamed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“The Google?” she whispered conspiratorially.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“The Netflix in this case,” Daryl corrected. She clearly had no idea what he was talking about, but waited patiently as Daryl unlocked his phone, pulled up his Netflix app, and considered their options. What, he wondered, was the best movie to show someone who was a hundred years behind? </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Anythin’ on here catch your interest?” he asked, angling the screen for her to see. After a moment’s hesitation she scooted closer and watched with the intensity of a lioness on a gazelle as Daryl scrolled slowly through the thumbnails of movies.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“How does this work?” she asked in an awed voice.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ain’t hard. We pick a flick and then watch it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“On your telephone?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yup.” Daryl thought he could smell the gears in her brain starting to smoke. “Try not to think too much of it. There’s no way a whole century’s worth of info is gonna suddenly start makin’ sense to you no matter how hard you think on it. All you’re gonna end up doin’ is poppin’ a blood vessel in your eye, so tell your mind to quiet down some and use your gut instead. What on here looks most interestin’?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You do understand how that’s akin to showing me the night sky and asking me to pick which star is the most beautiful? I have no frame of reference here.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We don’t gotta watch nothin’ if it’s too much,” Daryl said. He began to worry that he was putting more on her than she could handle, but she was protesting before the words fully left Daryl’s lips.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No! No, don’t take it away. I want to watch. It’s simply that it’s difficult for me to choose when it’s all so unfamiliar. Although…” She tilted forward to get a better look and then pointed at the screen with her blurry finger. “What is that one?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Titanic</span>
  </em>
  <span>? That’s a long-ass movie about the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Titanic</span>
  </em>
  <span> sinking. Least I assume it is. Never seen it all the way through. My brother used to play it just so he could get off on Kate Winslet.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Never mind.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I remember the day of the shipwreck,” Carol said. “All the papers had it on the front page. I was twelve and when I asked my mother what had happened she cried as she explained how all those lives had been lost at sea.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“God that’s weird.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Beg pardon?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“To think that the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Titanic</span>
  </em>
  <span> was only like, what? Eight years ago for you. Meanwhile, when I hear about it I just think about this movie and that dumbass Celine Dion song.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Who’s song?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Some singer. Think she’s Canadian.”  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What does that have to do with...no matter. Can we watch that?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure, we can, though I pro’ly should warn you that I think it gets real sad at the end, and you ain’t exactly used to how realistic movies can be. It might put you up in your feelings real bad.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I appreciate the concern,” Carol said, a bit defensively. “But I’m certain I can handle it. After all, it’s only a film, right?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, but—”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Then it won’t be a problem.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl worried his lip between his teeth, second guessing himself until it got to be more trouble than it was worth to dwell on it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“If you say so,” he said, and started the movie.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So maybe we shoulda started with like, a cartoon or somethin’.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Carol was weeping. Her tears had started about halfway through the movie, and now the credits had rolled well over ten minutes ago. Daryl held his hand over her back, letting it hover there awkwardly. His instinct was to try and soothe her with a touch, but the room refused to let him. Maybe if he kept his hand close she’d get the gist of what he was trying to do?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That was devastating,” Carol said in a watery voice. “And I still cannot fathom how they portrayed it so vividly.” She’d been stuck on that point from the beginning, shocked out of her mind by the sound, color, and quality. Daryl wished he could explain to her how it all worked, but to be honest he didn’t know. He never realized how many things he just accepted as, “I dunno how it works, it just does,” until he was tasked with explaining the why of it all to someone completely clueless.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“In my defense, I did try to warn you. You said you’d be able to handle it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl was surprised he wasn’t struck dead by the glare she cast his way.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You seem unaffected by the film,” she said, wiping her eyes with her sleeve.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s a bummer of a flick. I’m just more used to this shit than you. Plus, I don’t cry at movies. ‘Cept for </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Lion King</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but I ain’t seen that since I was little and my brother made fun of me for it, so pro’ly not even that anymore.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It makes the tragedy of the sinking exponentially worse to see it this way. Is that honestly how it happened?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re in a better position to answer that than me, princess. We hardly even got boats no more. Not like that, anyways. People use ‘em for cargo or fishin’, and cruises I guess, but there’s way easier ways to get across the ocean.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Carol almost seemed resigned when she asked, “And what, pray tell, could these ways possibly be?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“To get across the ocean all you gotta do is buy yourself a plane ticket. Can get you damn near anywhere in no more than a day, usually less.” Carol burst out laughing. “What, you don’t believe me?” Daryl asked with a smirk.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I do not think there’s much I won’t believe at this point. But my God, how different your world must be.” She paused for a moment, and then said in a quiet voice, “I wish I could see it. I wish I could walk through your door.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Wish I could show it to you.” Daryl found that he meant it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What if that’s what Charlie did? Imagine if he managed to find a way to open the door to another time and simply walked right through. Where would he have gone? </span>
  <em>
    <span>When</span>
  </em>
  <span> would he have gone?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Dunno. Figure that’s the biggest question we gotta answer if we wanna know what makes this room tick. But your Uncle knew how it worked. I’d bet you anythin’ he did.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I think so, too. Daryl”—she looked at him levelly—“if we discover that there is a way for me to come through your door would you allow me to do it?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ain’t up to me. It’d be your decision. But are you sure you’d want to?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“How could I not?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“‘Cause, what if it’s a one time deal? What if you can’t go back? You’d be leavin’ your family, your friends, and everythin’ you’ve ever known to go somewhere where you don’t know nobody.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“But I do,” Carol said softly. “I know you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl blushed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, but I ain’t worth givin’ up your whole world for. Now, if you decided to go through my door ‘cause you wanna be free from the bullshit they got you stuck in, then that’s different. But you’d gotta consider what you’d be givin’ up.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I have no reasons to stay here, Daryl. There is no one who would miss me for any reason besides missing having me be at their beck and call. I have doubt that even my own mother would mourn my absence. Her grief would be overshadowed by frustration that she no longer had me around to help her keep house. In my time I have nothing, but I know for certain that I have at least one thing of value waiting for me one hundred years from now.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s that?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Smiling, Carol put her hand over Daryl’s, doing as he had done and letting it hover just above his knuckles. He couldn’t feel it, not really, but judging by the tingling sensation he got, causing goosebumps to break out on both of his arms, his mind was tricked into thinking he could.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She whispered sweetly, “A friend.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>* </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Two days later, Daryl was sitting on the front porch having a cigarette pretending to care about what the worker inside was going to say about installing central air in the house, but in reality he was thinking about Carol. He’d gone to visit her without an agenda again the night before, and what struck him most about it—and with all his recent visits, really—was how easy it was to speak to her. Hell, Daryl had been tense with anxiety since the moment the indifferent worker showed up over an hour prior, because he didn’t want to have to deal with talking to another human being. And yet, talking to Carol was not only easy, but entertaining. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>enjoyed</span>
  </em>
  <span> it, and not in the way he had at the beginning, when she was something supernatural to investigate. No, he enjoyed it, because in spite of magical time differences, or whatever the hell it was, he liked her company. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl could count on two hands the number of people he liked, and that was a collection compiled over several years, but he’d known Carol for only a few weeks and already he knew he liked her more than any one of the others. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Figures the friend he liked the best would be the one a hundred years in the past. Talk about long-distance.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well installation is possible, though I can’t promise you there won’t be any damage to the original infrastructure. Can I bum a smoke?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl was startled out of his thoughts when the front door opened and the worker stepped outside and started talking without preamble.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“How much damage we talkin’?” Daryl asked, handing the man a cigarette and tossing his lighter over. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hard to say,” said the man. He lit his cigarette and returned the lighter. “The attic could hold the ductwork, but I dunno if you knew you got some water damage up there that’d need to be taken care of first. Besides, the truth is it’s a trick to install in a house this old, and you’re looking at seventy-five hundred minimum. I can tell this place is a bitch in the heat, though, I was sweatin’ up a storm when I was crawlin’ around in that attic, so there are some other options you could consider, such as…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl zoned out, catching the bear minimum to relay to Dale, but he didn’t give a shit about central air. Or about those faulty wires on the second floor, or his next phone battle with the cable company. It was becoming difficult to force himself to do the job he’d been hired to do, when all he wanted to do was figure out how that damn room worked; figure out if it was really possible for Carol to walk through his door.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“...thought you might wanna take a look.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl blinked, and then realized with an embarrassed flush that the man had his hand outstretched, holding something out to Daryl that he hadn’t heard the context for. Sheepishly, Daryl accepted it, hoping he could put it together himself, but when he looked it over he found that it was an old, water-stained journal that gave him more questions than answers.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry, what’d you say this was?” he was forced to ask. The man was nonplussed, taking a bored drag on his cigarette and ashing it, a stream of smoke billowing out of his pursed lips.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Said I found it when I was in the attic. Found it under a trick floorboard. Tiny lil’ hidin’ spot. Woulda missed it completely if it weren’t for the water eroding it to make it stick out. I ain’t a historian, but looks old as fuck. Didn’t go through it or nothin’, but thought maybe you’d want to. People like that shit. ‘Specially in houses like this. Always wantin’ to know the history of the place. Me? I hate ‘em. Creepy as hell. Gimme a house from the 21st century, with ducts already installed, and no damn ghosts. Tell me, you ever see or hear anythin’ weird in there?” He used his thumb to gesture at the house.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Daryl said absently, frowning down at the journal in his hands. “No ghosts, though.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You sure it ain’t no ghost?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl almost smiled.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Positive,” he said.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>After paying the man and sending him on his way Daryl sat down on the front steps and immediately began inspecting the journal. When he cracked it open he was struck with the pungent smell of dust and mildew. The pages were all stuck together, and Daryl had to pull them apart with care in order to not rip them. Not that it mattered much, since when he did get them apart all he found was a bunch of smeared ink on water-stained paper. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Damn,” Daryl muttered to himself, leafing through it, trying to find anything legible. Here and there he could pick out more significant words than just ifs and ands—</span>
  <em>
    <span>time, door, moon, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and a name that showed up enough times that he was able to piece together that it said </span>
  <em>
    <span>Loretta</span>
  </em>
  <span>—but there wasn’t enough for him to string any of it into anything coherent. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Frustrated, he gave up trying to read it and instead inspected the cover. It was made of a thin leather, the edges bent and gnawed on from what Daryl figured had to be mice. He turned it over to examine the back, not expecting to find anything, but then, in the bottom left corner, something caught Daryl’s eye. A small engraving. He lifted the journal up close and ran his thumb over it. It had been only a millimeter or two away from being chewed away, but it had been salvaged and now Daryl could read it. Two letters.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>CB.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Charlie Bennett. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Heart thudding, Daryl checked the time and swore. More than five hours until nightfall. He couldn’t wait that long, and yet had no choice. Frustrated, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled receipt from one, and a pen with a cap he’d chewed to pieces from the other. He cracked the journal open to the front page and started scanning for legible words, jotting them down on the receipt as he went. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe he had to wait for nightfall, but he was going to make those hours count. Once he finished his meager transcribing he planned a trip to the attic. After all, who knew what else was hidden up there? If nothing else, the house was full of secrets, and Daryl intended to unearth them all. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn’t what he was getting paid to do, but he’d never been more dedicated to a job in his life.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So whaddya think? You think it could really be Charlie’s? Does this look like somethin’ that would be from your time?” Daryl asked. It was just past sundown and he had all but accosted Carol with his new find. Carol, who was blurrier today than she had been the day before, ghosted her index finger over the initials engraved on the corner of the journal in Daryl’s hands.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s very possible,” she said after a long moment of thought. “I’d go as far as to say it’s likely.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Then it’d be real helpful if it weren’t destroyed.” Daryl snorted, annoyed. “From the looks of it the leak in the roof ain’t even been there all that long. Pro’ly got worse durin’ the hurricane last week. Bet you that’s where most of the damage came from, which pisses me off. Means there was a time where I was in the house with it when I coulda been able to read it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You weren’t looking for it then. There’s no sense in being angry at things out of your control.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I know. It’s just frustratin’. We only got so many clues, and this coulda been a big one. I was able to figure out bits and pieces.” Daryl pulled out his crumpled receipt and smoothed it out on his knee. “Moon was in there a few times, though I dunno why. And there was this name that kept comin’ up. Loretta. There was one page where I think he referred to her as ‘my Loretta’. That ring any bells to you?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No, I don’t know anyone by that name,” Carol said. She seemed distracted, a crease between her brows.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What is it?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“A thought just occurred to me,” she said slowly. “Where did you say you found this?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“The attic.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, but where exactly in the attic?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh, under one of the floorboards near the window. It looks like the rest, kinda like the wall blockin’ the staircase that comes up here.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Is there any way to tell the difference between it and the normal floorboards?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hm, it was maybe like, half a shade lighter than the others. Why?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Carol stood up abruptly. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait here,” she said. Daryl frowned. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Where are you goin’?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“To test a theory,” she said. “I’ll return shortly. Wait for me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“‘Kay,” Daryl said, bemused. She didn’t waste time explaining further. He watched her go to the door and take hold of her handle, and then she was gone. Daryl stared after her for a beat before picking up the journal and fiddling with it, but it wasn’t long before he set it aside again. He’d spent so much time trying to suss out the contents that he had no more desire to look at it. Sighing, he lay down on his back, folding his hands on his belly, and stared at the moon. It was mostly circular, except for one piece that was obstructed by shadow. What would happen, he wondered, during the new moon? If the full moon meant he could see Carol perfectly did that mean the new moon would cause her to disappear from view?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl considered how absurd the thought was, before deciding officially that there was no point in worrying about the absurdity of a room controlled by the moon. Was it really absurd if he had proof? Besides, wasn’t it the moon that controlled the ebb and flow of the tide? Perhaps that was what it was doing to the room—controlling the ebb and flow. No, absurd wasn’t the word to describe it. Absurd suggested the absence of rules, but the room had plenty of rules. Daryl didn’t pretend to know them all, nor could he claim to fully understand the ones he did know, but there was no doubt they existed, and that alone negated absurdity. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But he also had no other word for it. But maybe he didn’t need one. Maybe it would come with the onset of understanding. Once he knew how it worked, then he would have the vocabulary to describe it. What was one more thing being contingent on solving the mystery? Everything else was.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl wasn’t sure how much time passed as he let his mind wander—enough that he’d been beginning to wonder if she really was coming back—but finally the door opened once again, and he propped himself up on his elbows and saw Carol hurrying over to him, holding her dress up a few inches to stop herself from tripping. He pushed himself into a sitting position and reached over to pick up the journal, only it wasn’t there. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What is it?” Carol asked as she took her seat beside him on the floor. She was out of breath.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“The journal,” Daryl said, searching the area around him and coming up empty. “It was just here and now it’s gone.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I believe,” Carol said, a sly grin spreading across her face. “That is because </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> have it.” She held out her hand, which was gripping the journal Daryl had just had. Except this one was different. This one had no bent corners or nibbled on edges, and, from what he could tell at first glance, no water damage either. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You went to the attic,” Daryl said. “You found where he hid it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“But where’d mine go?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I would assume you don’t have it because I removed it from its hiding place,” Carol said logically. “You were able to find it under the floorboard when no one else had touched it, but today, now, in 1920, I moved it, so today, now, in 2020, it’s no longer there.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck me,” Daryl groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “This is gettin’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>real</span>
  </em>
  <span> close to time paradox territory, princess.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Perhaps,” Carol said with a small smile. “But be that as it may, the journal I now possess is legible. I checked.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll be damned,” Daryl said, chuckling. “Guess I wasted my time tryna do a damn word puzzle all evening.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, you can hardly fault yourself for not thinking about going into the past to retrieve an undamaged version. That would never be the first thought of a sane man.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Then remind me to be crazier. It’d save me a lotta work.” He felt a hint of pride when Carol laughed. “‘Kay. Let’s see what’s inside this thing, yeah?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, let’s,” Carol said. She set the journal down beside her for a moment to adjust the skirt of her dress. As she did, Daryl picked it up and examined the cover. It was the exact same journal he’d spent hours staring at, only a hundred years older, which somehow made it look a hundred years newer. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s fuckin’ buckwild,” he muttered, mainly to himself. He held it out to Carol who reached for it. The second her hand touched the journal Daryl’s hand fell through it. The two of them paused. Then, tentatively, Daryl tried to touch the journal again. He went through it like air. He furrowed his brow and said, “I was holdin’ that five seconds ago, right? I didn’t imagine it?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Not unless we both did.” She set it down again. “Try now,” she instructed. Daryl did and scooped the journal right up. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“‘Kay, what’s this one about?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Perhaps you can’t touch the things in this room if I’m currently holding them,” Carol suggested. To test the theory she took hold of the journal once more, and yet again it turned intangible in Daryl’s hand.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well,” Daryl said, staring at the journal and trying to decide what to do with this new information. “Add it to the list?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I suppose so.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They silently agreed to bookmark that discovery for a later date in favor of seeing the contents of the journal. Carol opened it to the first page and Daryl scooted closer to her, trying not to be shy about it and failing. He read silently as she read the entries aloud, and he quickly learned that not all of the problems he’d had trying to figure out what they said in the water-stained copy were due to damage. As it turned out, Charlie’s journal entries, every last one, were short and cryptic.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>18th of September, 1890</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The house is finished. I did as the old woman in the woods instructed and received the desired effect. Although, perhaps I am hasty in referring to it as desired, as I had no prior expectations outside of vague speculation. Amendment: I received an effect. Whether or not it is desired remains to be seen.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>1st of January, 1891</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The new year has begun. The Lunar Room has garnered no remarkable events. The old woman in the woods demanded patience. It occurs to me only now that she did not specify for how long this patience must be endured.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>5th of May, 1891</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I entertained Mary and Sophia overnight. Young Sophia noticed my disappearance come nightfall. I managed to convince her I had merely stepped out for a bit. Must be more careful moving forward.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>4th of July 1892</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Independence Day celebrations put everyone in a festive mood, and yet I find myself feeling melancholy. News of the old woman’s disappearance has reached me through rumors. Her absence weighs heavy and I cannot help but wonder if any answers are now absent as well.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>1st of January, 1893</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Another year has come and gone, and yet my life still centers around the mysteries. The old woman told me I was not of this time. Perhaps instead of seeking a new time I should instead focus on becoming of this one. I shall not visit the Lunar Room with expectation any longer. This is my New Year’s resolution.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>31st of December, 1899</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Seven years have passed since my last entry. I am no more of this time than last I wrote. I have not visited the Lunar Room in many moons, but I will tonight. I cannot explain the urgency, but I am certain that I must be there when the clock strikes midnight. Nothing but intuition tells me this, but it tells me quite loudly. I must listen.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>1st of January, 1900</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I listened and was rewarded. Her name is Loretta.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>7th of January, 1900</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Thirty years I have scoffed at the idea of true love. One week, and it’s all I know. Six hours until sundown. Six hours until my Loretta.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>16th of January, 1900</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Last night was the new moon, and my heart ached with longing through every minute of it.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>17th of January, 1900</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The pain has subsided with the waxing of the moon.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>27th of January, 1900</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Loretta and I believe we have determined the time. February 14th. Valentine’s Day. No better date.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>4th of February, 1900</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Sophia brought a daughter into the world today. I knew the moment I saw her that she was the one the old woman spoke of. A girl not of her time. May she find her rightful place. May she find her Loretta.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>13th of February, 1900</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Tomorrow I will be gone. If only people knew of the fluidity of time. Imagine if they knew the world as I do, with no past or future. Only one eternal present. I wish they could see the beauties and the possibilities of eternity. I am blessed to be given such sight. I am blessed.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Carol came to the end of the entries, several blank pages following. The two of them looked at each other in silence for a long, long while.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I believe we may have been gifted answers in addition to a wealth of new questions,” she said finally, and Daryl snorted.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I think you’re right.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Where do you propose we go from here?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, our next step seems pretty obvious to me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Which is?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl rested his elbows on his bent knees and nodded at the journal in Carol’s lap.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“First things first,” he said. “We gotta find out who this Loretta chick is.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That Friday Daryl was on a smoke break during a shift he picked up with the drywall company when Dale approached him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey,” Dale said. “I got somethin’ for you.” He then handed Daryl a photograph. Daryl raised an eyebrow at his boss before looking at the picture. It was black and white, and probably from the fifties or sixties if he had to guess. He didn’t recognize anyone in the picture.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s this?” he asked, dropping his cigarette and crushing it with the heel of his boot.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I was doing some organizing around the house, and I came across some old photos my wife had stockpiled. I remembered you were wondering about the history of the house. Well that picture is of my wife and her family.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Upon closer examination Daryl could see that he recognized the background as the living room of the house. There was a little girl who Daryl assumed was Dale’s wife, and a middle aged couple that were likely her parents. Then there was a young adult man who had similar facial features to the little girl. An older brother, maybe? Then there was a woman who stood out completely. She was a pretty black woman around the same age as the boy.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Who’s she?” Daryl asked, pointing at the woman.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, she was a friend of my brother-in-law. She stayed with the family for a couple months when she was saving up money to move to Atlanta. Poor thing. Had a rough go of it in the rural south, but my wife adored her.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What was her name?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Loretta Johansen,” Dale said, not seeming to notice the way Daryl stiffened beside him. “Later became Loretta Bennett.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Huh,” Daryl said with forced casualness. “When’d she pass away?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, she hasn’t,” Dale said, and Daryl snapped his head up to look at him. He couldn’t help it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“She’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>alive</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Dale furrowed his brow a little at Daryl’s excitement over the stranger. “I haven’t seen her in a minute. Last I heard she was at an old folk’s home in Macon.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Huh,” Daryl said again.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Why the interest, son? She didn’t own the house or anything. She was just a close family friend.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Like I said,” Daryl muttered, staring at the picture, Loretta’s smiling face staring back. “Just real interested in history.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, you keep that, then. And I’ll be sure to let you know if I turn up anything else.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Discreetly, he checked the time.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Nine hours until sundown.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>many apologies for missing my deadline week before last. brain was doing the thing and all my writing was coming out as trash, it was dumb. i don't anticipate that being a problem next update day, but if it is i'll let y'all know on my tumblr blog. reminder that updates are now tuesday nights/wednesday mornings cst.</p>
<p>also, i went back and edited a couple dates i screwed up last chapter, specifically in audra d'heur's journal entries. i imagine it won't be the only time i gotta do that. i get dates mixed up p easy, and i have to remember So Many dates for this story, you guys. So. Many. remind me not to ever write a story that requires me to remember small details ever again</p>
<p>anyways, that's all i got for you today. the mystery continues!</p>
<p>until whenever,<br/>-diz</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. vi. waning gibbous: the promises</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Guess what I found out,” Daryl said the moment he entered the room and saw that Carol was already there perched on the edge of her bed. Surprised, she lifted her head from the book she was leafing through.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello to you as well,” she deadpanned, setting the book aside.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, hi, guess what I found out,” Daryl repeated, too excited for pleasantries. He’d been waiting hours to tell her what he’d learned.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Given your demeanor I would assume it’s something substantial related to our quest.” Carol laced her hands in her lap and gazed at him patiently. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I figured out who Loretta is,” he said, and Carol’s eyebrows flew to her hairline.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You did?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Mhm, and that ain’t even the best part,” Daryl said, brimming with pent up energy. He went to stand in front of her, where she appeared a little more faded from view than she had the day before. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s the best part?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“She’s still alive.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Alive?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Carol gaped at him. “How old is she?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Dunno. My boss—the one payin’ me to stay here, Dale—thinks she lives in an old folk’s home in Macon, so I figure she ain’t no spring chicken. I tried lookin’ her up online but couldn’t find nothin’ specific. Too common a name, I guess, but get this. Her married name? It’s Bennett.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Just like Charlie,” Carol said in an awed voice.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Just like Charlie,” Daryl agreed. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out the picture Dale had given him, smoothing out the crease that had formed along on the edge. Without thinking he went and sat beide Carol on the bed. The second his butt hit the mattress the two of them froze.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry,” Daryl said once he remembered himself, standing up so quickly you’d think his pants had caught fire. “Didn’t mean to...I know you said that thing about havin’ guys in your bed. That wasn’t my aim here or nothin’, I swear. Didn’t mean to be all up in your space, I was just excited and wasn’t thinkin’ and—”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Daryl,” Carol said gently, a slight smile playing on her lips. “It’s quite alright.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl couldn’t fight his blush as he looked down at his feet. He was a fish so far out of water that he couldn’t even see the shore. It would be awkward enough trying to navigate a “the only place to sit besides the floor is this bed” situation with a 21st century girl, but it was another thing entirely with Carol, because what the hell were her boundaries? On the one hand she didn’t seem as prudish as she might look, but on the other hand, she did get very embarrassed looking at a Victoria’s Secret ad, and had said “gracious me” when Kate Winslet got naked during </span>
  <em>
    <span>Titanic</span>
  </em>
  <span>, so Daryl was at a loss. And it wasn’t like he was an expert on the opposite sex, regardless of the time period.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“If you overthink anymore your thoughts are going to start tumbling out of your ears,” Carol continued. “I’m not offended, Daryl. I am not so dense that I haven’t come to the conclusion that people in your time aren’t so, shall I say, conservative? But do not mistake me as a puritan. I am open to the ideals of your time period. I think, in fact, I may prefer them.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It ain’t that I think you can’t handle it or nothin’,” Daryl said, forcing himself to lift his head back up. “Just don’t wanna make you uncomfortable is all.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Carol considered this for a moment, and then said, “You’re quite a gentleman.” She seemed surprised when Daryl huffed a laugh.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry, but that ain’t somethin’ I get called often.” Truth be told, he wasn’t sure if it was something he’d been called </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“More reason for me to make sure you know it, then.” She tilted her head and regarded him for a moment. “Perhaps others would find it unseemly for a woman—an </span>
  <em>
    <span>engaged</span>
  </em>
  <span> woman, no less—to be alone at night with a man, but I try not to concern myself with the nonsense others spew. There is nothing scandalous occurring here, and if there was, well, that would be our business, not theirs would it not? I want you to know that I trust you implicitly, Daryl Dixon, and besides”—she reached out and attempted to touch Daryl’s hand with her own and predictably failed—“Even if you weren’t an honorable man, or if I lacked propriety, this room wouldn’t allow it.” She pulled her hand back and used it to gesture at the spot Daryl had vacated.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Please,” she said. “Sit.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl chewed on his lip, rubbing the nape of his neck, as he took that all in. It was ironic that he assumed she was the repressed one, when he was the one that was having trouble reconciling the fact that Carol had just made the vaguest of mentions of sex. Maybe he should go to her time instead, he chastised himself, if he was going to be acting like a blushing virgin around her.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“If you didn’t feel like sittin’ on the floor today you coulda just said so,” he mumbled. She laughed at his lame joke and it cut the tension he was pretty sure he was feeling much more severely than she was. He retook his seat and said nothing more on the subject, opting instead to hold out the photo for her to see. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s her,” he told Carol, pointing at Loretta. “Long time back, obviously, I think maybe early sixties, but that’s her.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“She’s a colored woman,” Carol said, furrowing her brow. Daryl winced.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh, yeah. That ain’t as big a deal...I mean to say that in my time we don’t...hell. Why’s everythin’ gotta be so awkward today? I only been up here five minutes for Christ’s sake.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not my intention to make things awkward. I apologize. Don’t mistake my shock as prejudice. My fiance may harbor certain viewpoints, but I do not share them.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“In my time people can still be dicks about it—hell, my daddy was one racist sumbitch—but it ain’t like your time.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Carol examined the picture in silence for a few seconds, and then gave a single, definitive nod.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Good. That’s good. And I imagine the judicial system reflects this change? Because if Charlie were to have courted this woman in the year of his disappearance it would have been unlawful.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Man, your time period </span>
  <em>
    <span>sucks</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Daryl said bluntly. “People can’t get with who they want, they got you wearin’ shit that all but cracks your ribs in half, and you can’t even vote about it. Not to mention y’all got no internet. I should get you over on my side for that alone.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Speaking of the vote.” Carol angled herself to face Daryl, her pose still proper but her knees bouncing. “The General Assembly begins soon. All eyes are on Tennessee, and the House is neck-in-neck. But if it passes? Then they’ll have no choice. The 19th amendment will be ratified. It’d be historic.” She paused and drew her lower lip in between her teeth. “You could tell me, you know? You could tell me what happens.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl searched her face and then shook his head slowly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No spoilers,” he said with a smirk. After she told him about her interest in the suffrage movement, Daryl had spent nearly two hours reading all about it, but he wasn’t going to tell her the outcome. His mere existence in her life told her more secrets about the future than anyone else ever got, but he didn’t want to rob her of the experience of celebrating with women across the country. Not when she’d spent so long waiting for it. Judging by her huff of irritation, however, Carol didn’t appreciate his logic.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re a cruel man,” she said indignantly with a pout, which Daryl definitely did </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> think was cute. It didn’t matter, anyhow. He wasn’t going to budge on the matter.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Shush and take a look at the picture. Help me figure out who all’a these people are to you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“How do you mean?” Carol frowned down at the photo in Daryl’s hand.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, the young girl in the picture is Dale’s wife, and if I’m doin’ the family tree math right she was your niece.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“My </span>
  <em>
    <span>niece</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Carol asked, shaking her head. “I don’t have a niece.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well yeah, not yet, dummy,” Daryl said with a chuckle. “But eventually. Dale said that his mother-in-law married into your family, so if that older lady is his mother-in-law, then the guy next to her is pro’ly your brother. You said you got a lil’ brother, right?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes.” Her voice was distant as she leaned forward to study the photo closer, her nose almost touching the paper. She sat back a ways and used her thumb to trace the curve of the older man’s face. “Is that really William?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Assumin’ William’s your lil’ brother, then yeah, I think so. Dale didn’t say for certain, but if I had to guess.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s him,” she said, her tone still distant but suddenly certain. “He has the same eyes.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s got your eyes,” Daryl said without thinking about it, not even aware that he’d made that connection until the words were out of his mouth. He couldn’t see the color of the man’s eyes in the black and white photo, but they were the same shape and size. Carol blinked up at him with those identical eyes he apparently paid more attention to than he thought he did and she seemed melancholy. “What’s wrong?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing. No, not nothing. I’m not sure what it is, exactly. Seeing this picture—seeing my baby brother as a man—it’s giving me emotions I’m unable to interpret.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“If it makes you feel better I never know how to interpret my feelin’s,” Daryl said. She cracked a smile that disappeared quickly. “I imagine it’d make anyone feel some type of way if they saw a picture of someone they knew however many years in the future.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, but that’s not it. This picture—it should make me feel like I have something to look forward to. A niece. Perhaps a nephew if the young man in the photo is William’s son. But seeing them doesn’t fill me with excitement. It makes me sad, as though it’s something I’ll never get to experience.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Is it ‘cause you’re thinkin’ about the possibility of comin’ through my door? You’re worried about missin’ out on seein’ how your family will change?” Daryl fiddled with the corner of the picture, waiting for her to say yes, she’d made a mistake in saying she wanted to find a way to get to his time. Of course she’d want to stay. Who would trade their entire family for </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But that’s not what she said.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Instead of telling him she didn’t want to keep searching she surprised him by asking, “Daryl, when you told me that you would not look me up because you were afraid of what you might find...what did you mean?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I dunno,” Daryl said evasively with a shrug. Carol regarded him and then stared down at her lap, swallowing hard.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“May I tell you something?” she asked.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“‘Course.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“This feeling I have, the sadness at never being able to see my younger siblings grow or meet their children, it isn’t new. This photo”—she gestured at it with a nod of the head—“escalates the feeling, but it did not create it. Daryl, I…” she trailed off, a wrinkle forming between her brows.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What is it?” Daryl asked gently. She didn’t answer right away; worried a loose thread on her dress between her ring finger and thumb in silence.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I think something tragic is meant to happen to me. And I think you believe that as well. That’s why you’re afraid to look.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl didn’t respond. He’d never thought it out so plainly in his own mind, but now that she said it he couldn’t deny that it was true. Whenever his thoughts inched too close to the cause of her death he cut them off. As much as he wanted to believe she had died peacefully in her sleep at the ripe age of 102, he simply didn’t. And the fact that she didn’t either gave him a sinking feeling of dread.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s alright, you know? If you want to look and then tell me what you find.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I can handle it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I know, but that don’t mean you should. Plus, I don’t think I’m ready to know.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Why not?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl bit his lip and considered his answer.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“‘Cause I like you,” he said eventually. “And if somethin’ shitty did happen to you I don’t wanna think about it. ‘Sides, maybe it won’t matter.” He shook the picture in his hand for emphasis, the stiff paper making a wobbly sound. “This is Loretta Bennett, remember? She knew your uncle, I’m sure of it, and if he really did go through time to be with her then there ain’t no reason why you can’t do the same. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Before</span>
  </em>
  <span> anythin’ bad happens.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Carol took a deep breath and blew it out in a long stream.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Perhaps your presence here isn’t only to prevent my marriage to a monstrous man. Perhaps you’re here to save me in more ways than one.” She said it more to herself than to him, but even though the weight of such a task weighed on him, Daryl’s resolve strengthened.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“If I am,” he said, looking her dead in the eyes she shared with her brother in the photograph. “Then I’ll do everythin’ I can to get you out of here. I promise.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not putting that on you, Daryl. My life shouldn’t be your responsibility.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“This room seems to think differently.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We don’t know that for certain.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Then we’ll keep searchin’ for answers, but until we know better that’s what I’m gonna assume—that I’m s’posed to protect you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Carol twisted one of her stud earrings, frowning.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t like the idea of needing protection,” she admitted.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl reigned in his intensity, and said, much softer, “It don’t got nothin’ to do with you bein’ capable. You know that, right? Listen, Carol, I been in charge of takin’ care of myself so long that I know I wouldn’t have the first clue on what to do if someone offered me help, and I get the feelin’ you’re just the same, and just as proud and stubborn about it, but if I can save you, let me. Please.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright,” Carol said, resigned. She slid her hand from her earring down to her neck where her moonstone pendant lay and held it in her grasp. “And I believe that you will keep your promise that you will do whatever you can to help. But I need you to promise me one more thing.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s that?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Carol smiled sadly at him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Promise me you will not blame yourself if you fail.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The next morning Daryl awoke in his bed and immediately felt like a man on a mission. Before he’d even rubbed the sleep from his eyes he was determined that he was going to find answers that day. Maybe not all of them—hell, maybe not even a lot of them—but he intended to go to Carol that night with something new to prove that he was serious about keeping his promise to help her, and that he was not going to fail.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>If he was being perfectly honest he wasn’t acting with purely altruistic motives. As much as he wanted to get Carol away from whatever fate had them both heavy with dread, he also revelled in having a sense of purpose. How much of his short life had been him simply going through the motions because it was what he was supposed to do? But he’d never done anything that actually mattered. If one day he stopped going in to put up drywall there were plenty who could do it, and frankly Dale was doing </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span> a favor, not vice versa, in having him take care of the house. There were more qualified people who could shine the place up like a new penny no problem. He was, in all aspects of his life, replaceable.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>All aspects, except when it came to Carol. He was the only one in the world that knew about her, and therefore was the only one who could save her.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It felt good to matter, and he did </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>intend to fuck it up.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Which is why, as he turned the water on in the bathroom sink to brush his teeth, the old pipes groaning, he decided he was taking a day trip to Macon to find and interrogate Loretta Bennett.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The problem was that he wasn’t sure where to begin. When he looked online he found over two dozen nursing homes and rehabilitation facilities in the city, and Loretta could be in any of them. Or she could be in none of them. After all, Daryl was working off of Dale’s best guess of where this woman lived.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He put on his boots and grabbed the keys to his bike anyway. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll know it when I see it,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thought absurdly to himself. Did he suddenly expect himself to become a clairvoyant, for Christ’s sake? The rational side of his brain told him he was destined to spend his afternoon going from nursing home to nursing home until they eventually banned him from the entire damn city for being a creep.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He pushed the thought away as he pulled his helmet on over his head and took off down the dirt road that led to the highway.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was a gorgeous morning. It was supposed to get into the nineties later, but on the empty two-lane highway Daryl zipped down it was a comfortable seventy-two. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and when he looked up he thought fleetingly of the blue of Carol’s eyes. Every night they were getting harder and harder to perceive, color being the first thing to fade as the moon waned. Would he still be visiting her in three weeks when the moon was full again? Or was it possible she might have even gotten through his door by that point?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Adrenaline pooled in his stomach and he sped up to let out his nervous energy, the wind whipping in his ears.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Where would she go if they did manage to find a way to bring her through? He’d been so caught up in the how of it all that he hadn’t thought about the logistics of actually having her with him, a hundred years from her home. He’d have to teach her how to act and help her catch up on what she’d missed, but then what? What would happen if he got her through his door, helped her forge some documents and learn how to not draw suspicion, and then she was self-sufficient? Would she stay with him? For how long?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Forever” simultaneously seemed like an impossible ask and the only right answer.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Knock it off,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he told himself. He was counting his chickens before they hatched. None of that mattered if he never figured out how the doors worked. He needed answers to the questions they already had before he started asking new ones.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>About ten miles outside Macon city limits Daryl pulled over onto the shoulder to check the map. He stared at his screen where every nursing home in Macon was marked with a red icon. There were so many he didn’t have a clue as to where to start. Huffing a sigh, he tilted his head up and tried to think.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>What happened instead was that he saw the moon. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was difficult to see in the daylight, but still he saw it. It was nearly in half, only a day or two away from third quarter, and Daryl felt drawn to it. Slowly, he moved his gaze from the moon down to where it hung above an intersection where the highway crossed with another one.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Idly wondering if he was going insane, Daryl pressed down on the accelerator, drove to the crossroad, and took the left-hand turn, following the moon.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>After driving for nearly ten minutes he was starting to feel stupid and was considering turning around when the back of a big, brick building came into view. He saw the parking lot before any business signs. Taking a chance—why stop now?—he turned in and drove in a long loop around to the front where the words </span>
  <em>
    <span>Le Couer de la Lune Nursing Home</span>
  </em>
  <span> were on display above the entrance.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll be damned,” Daryl muttered, and parked his bike.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Walking up to the entrance, Daryl passed a grumpy-looking old woman in a wheelchair having a smoke, and a bored-looking old man with a cane sitting on a bench staring out at nothing. Going in through the double glass doors, Daryl was met with a receptionist’s desk and the young, peppy brunette staffing it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“How can I help you today?” asked the peppy brunette with a peppy smile. Daryl had forgotten that in order to find Loretta he would have to interact with other human beings. He took a moment to remind himself that it was worth the sacrifice before responding.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Er...I’m here to visit Loretta Bennett?” He tried to say it confidently but he couldn’t keep the question out of his voice. He held his breath, waiting for the peppy brunette to suddenly grow cold and tell him she’d never heard of such a person, and how dare he even ask?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh!” she said in surprise. “Sure! I’ve never seen you around before. Are you a friend of Alex’s?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Who the fuck was Alex?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yep.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Aw, I knew he was going to be out of town this week, but he didn’t mention he’d be sending a friend to check on her. I should have known, though. Have you ever met a sweeter guy?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure haven’t.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I hope if I ever have grandkids they’ll love me as much as that kid loves his grandma,” the peppy brunette said. Daryl quickly catalogued this information in the likely event he would need to drag out his lie. The peppy brunette pushed a clipboard towards him. “Go ahead and sign in and I’ll show you where to go.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl debated putting down a fake name for all of three seconds before remembering he was not creative enough to come up with a fake name on the fly and scribbled his real name instead. He looked at the peppy brunette expectantly and she pointed down a corridor.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Her room is number 127 at the end of the hall.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl mumbled a thanks and headed towards the room.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn’t until he was standing in front of it did he realize he hadn’t thought that far ahead. What exactly did he intend to say to this random old lady? “Hi, you don’t know me from Adam, but was your husband, by chance, a time traveller?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The rational part of his brain that had been telling him all day he was being reckless and dumb was laughing and saying I told you so.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Gathering up what little courage he had, he decided he hadn’t come this far to chicken out and rapped his knuckles lightly against the cracked door.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Come in,” said a male’s voice. Frowning, Daryl pushed the door the rest of the way open and found a young, lanky nurse in a pair of polka dot scrubs holding a spoonful of applesauce out to an elderly woman sitting in a recliner. He looked at Daryl when he entered and asked, “Can I help you?” his voice decidedly less peppy than the receptionist’s. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, I’m here to, uh...I’m a friend of Alex’s,” Daryl fumbled.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, okay,” the polka dotted nurse said, turning back to the woman, and Daryl figured that had been the right thing to say. “Mrs. Bennett?” The polka dotted nurse addressed the woman now. “You have a guest. Why don’t you take your medicine so the two of you can visit and I can finish my rounds?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl chewed on his lower lip and watched nervously as Loretta turned her head slowly to look at him. Her expression was a blank slate for several seconds, but then, suddenly, recognition bloomed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You weren’t at church this morning, James,” Loretta admonished, leaving Daryl perplexed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Um—” Daryl started, but the polka dotted nurse cut him off.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“James can tell you all about why he wasn’t at church </span>
  <em>
    <span>after</span>
  </em>
  <span> you take your meds.” He held the spoon closer to Loretta’s lips. Loretta took the bite, but not before casting him a very unamused glare. The polka dotted nurse straightened up and approached Daryl.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Have you met with her before?” he asked briskly in a quiet voice.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Daryl said, grateful to be able to tell the truth. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, well, I don’t know how much Alex has told you, but James was her childhood best friend. She might call you that, she might call you someone else entirely, or she might call you by your name. She waffles back and forth between reality and old memories all the time. Even when she’s not lucid she tends to be pretty mellow, and pretty funny if you don’t mind getting roasted. Time just works differently for her, and it’s easier for us to play along than to try and bring her to the present. Got it?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Oh good. She had dementia. Daryl was lying about knowing a nice old lady with dementia. Fantastic. The entire situation was becoming unethical on several levels, but fuck it, he was in it now.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, no problem,” he said, despite there being several problems.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ll be fine, she’s pretty self-sufficient considering, and I’ll be just down the hall if you need me, and there’s a call button by the bed.” The polka dotted nurse said goodbye to Loretta and then ducked out of the room, pulling the door partially shut behind him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And then there were two.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“James, be a dear and turn my record back on. That skinny boy never remembers to do it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> the one who should be eating applesauce, not a piece of meat on his whole damn body.” Loretta pointed with a shaky, wrinkled finger at a dresser that had a stereo sitting on it. Daryl, happy to have a task, went over and pressed play. A couple of seconds full of static passed before the song started. When it did it was familiar, and it only took Daryl a moment to place it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“‘Total Eclipse of the Heart’?” he asked Loretta.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t you start with me, James Mason, or I’ll tell Charlie you’ve been bullying me again.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl’s heart skipped a beat.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Can’t have that,” he muttered, thinking fast.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“As soon as he gets here he’ll have your behind for harassing his girl. No sir, he won’t stand for it.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Weren’t harassin’ you. It’s a good song.” That one was maybe the biggest lie yet. He hated that song.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“While we’re on the subject of Charlie’s arrival, I’m gonna need your help tidyin’ up the place. And I don’t want to hear one word about ‘women’s work’. Irma needs to focus on her studies, and I am not asking your mother. She’s done enough for me as is, plus she’s no good at housework. Can’t blame her, though, it’s not the poor woman’s fault she doesn’t know how to shine a floor if no one ever taught her. I’ll show you how, though. It’ll be good for you. Then when you finally get hitched you’ll be able to make her nice and happy with beautiful floors.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sounds like a plan,” Daryl said, smiling a little. “How much time do we have? You know, ‘fore he arrives?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, how many times do I gotta—</span>
  <em>
    <span>Valentine’s Day</span>
  </em>
  <span>, James! It’s not difficult to remember. I swear, everythin’ I tell’ya goes in one ear and out the other.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry,” Daryl said, distracted. Didn’t Charlie’s journal say…?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And don’t go on about how he’s not comin’. I simply do </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> want to hear that today, you understand?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Why would I say that?” Vaguely, Daryl realized with mild horror that the song had restarted, suggesting it may be on a loop.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t pretend to be ignorant. ‘Imaginary friend,’ you called him. You’ll see, though. He promised, and he’s a real man, and real men always keep their promises.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Loretta…” Daryl twisted his mouth and did a few mental gymnastics to decide if he should ask his next question or not. “Is Charlie comin’ through the door?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Loretta leaned back in her chair and stared at Daryl long enough for him to turn scarlet under the scrutiny. Had that been a bad question? He felt like he was playing with fire, and as much as he wanted answers he didn’t want to mess with Loretta’s already damaged mind.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“How do you know about the room?” she asked finally, narrowing her eyes. Daryl, failing to find a suitable lie, decided to go for the truth.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“‘Cause I’ve seen it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Bullshit. How?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“By accident. Wasn’t lookin’ for it or nothin’, just found it by mistake. Don’t really understand it, though. Do you know what makes it tick? What it’s for?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What makes it </span>
  <em>
    <span>tick</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Loretta repeated slowly, seeming to ponder her answer. “Why, it’s a place where time happens all at once, honey. Tick tick tick, James, clocks don’t matter one bit in there. But only certain people get to go inside. If you really went in then that means you’re gonna find what I found.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And what’d you find?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Boy, you can be as dumb as a bag of bricks. The hell do you think I found? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Love</span>
  </em>
  <span>, fool. True love.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl couldn’t help his snort.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Right,” he said, shaking his head. Loretta tsked her tongue at him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ll believe me or you won’t, but I’m just tellin’ it like it is. That’s what it was built for. Charlie said so; said he was given the stones ‘cause he was meant to find me. You keep goin’ in that room and I’ll bet you anythin’ that you’ll find yourself a girl who is a lifetime away but belongs right at your side. She’ll come through your door, or you’ll go through hers, and you’ll be together ‘til death do you part, sweetheart.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl tried to ignore the way his stomach was curling into knots. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That </span>
  </em>
  <span>certainly couldn be true.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Right? </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“But how do we get through each other’s doors?” he asked.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“When the time is right they’ll open.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“But </span>
  <em>
    <span>how</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Loretta sighed and then turned her head towards the window. Daryl waited impatiently as she gazed out at her view of the nursing home courtyard. She then coughed into her elbow and looked up at Daryl again, tilting her head in confusion.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“James,” she said. “You weren’t at church this morning.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl wanted to scream, but of course he didn’t. It wasn’t the old woman’s fault, but he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>so close</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Behind him the CD player was staticky for a moment, and then the song began again.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll try and make it next time. Hey now, I should let you get some rest,” he said. He wasn’t going to push her anymore.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“When you see Alex tell him I’ll need his help tidyin’ up before Charlie gets here. Gotta show him how to shine the floors.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl smiled.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I will.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And tell him not to wear those awful t-shirts with those horrible bands on them. If you wanna call ‘em bands. Don’t know how that child can call that nonsense music. It’s just loud noise and yellin’, is what it is, and if he wears those t-shirts then Charlie’s gonna think our grandson is a Satanist. You tell him we raised his daddy to be a God fearin’ man, and he best be one, too.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Noted,” Daryl said, breathing a soft laugh.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And you better dress well, too. You look homeless and you need a haircut.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl laughed for real at that.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, ma’am.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Loretta nodded, satisfied. Daryl started for the door, but stopped when she said, “James?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah?” He glanced at her over his shoulder, one hand on the door handle.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You will come and visit again soon, yes?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“‘Course,” he said softly. He wasn’t sure if it was a lie.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He left then, stopping at the front desk to sign out and force a goodbye to the peppy brunette. He then went to his bike and peeled away as fast as possible, needing the speed of the highway to help gather his thoughts. It would take some time to process all the information that got thrown at him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Not to mention, what the fuck was he going to tell Carol? That they were supposed to fall in love? Yeah, right. She’d laugh him right out of Georgia.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>For the first time in over a week, Daryl dreaded sunset. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>yeah ok, it's a few days late, but i get points bc i actually had it done on time, i just hadn't typed it up and then i got sick and slept for like a full day and had to sneak in getting it all typed up at work last night. whateverrrr. theoretically, the next update should be 11/24 or 11/25. that is the plan, anyway.</p>
<p>also. i have been wondering how tf i was going to address racism in this story essentially since i came up with it, and this was not as funny as my original idea, but it was probably more tasteful. if it helps, i am a black woman writing this??? idk if that gives me like, credentials or some shit, but there you go. i couldn't ignore it, but also it's daryl's pov and i doubt he's got like, degrees in ethnic studies, so, it is what it is. hope it was ok. it'll probably happen again, fair warning.</p>
<p>hokay, that's it. gg update on tues/wed for whom it concerns. and actually, one more thing. i was bullied/have no sense of self-control, and am working on a /totally/ self-indulgent x-files/caryl crossover fic that i will post exclusively on ao3. i don't know any details about length or update schedule, but i'll prob put the first chapter up this weekend, and i need people to read it to make it worth the time i spent on it, so if that's of interest to you, keep an eye out.</p>
<p>k that's it for real</p>
<p>byeee,<br/>-diz</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. vii. waning crescent: the earworm</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>"So you managed to find her? Truly?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Mhm. Don't know how, but I did. I had to lie to a couple people to get in, but I figure it was for a good cause so it's not that bad."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Tell me absolutely everything." Carol was in a flowy dress, much less restrictive than he'd ever seen her in, and was sitting cross-legged at the top of her bed, her hands clasped together as she looked at Daryl eagerly. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl was sitting on the opposite end of the bed, trying to stay as far away as possible from her without her catching on. The fact that he was generally always kind of awkward was probably working in his favor.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Carol was still fading from view, just a little bit each night, but it had been long enough since the full moon that the difference was obvious, and Daryl found himself missing her wholeness. He had been given the opportunity to see how vibrant she was, and having it stripped away from him felt like a punishment. He could no longer make out the exact color of her eyes, nor the freckles across the bridge of her nose. Her hair, which was in a loose braid over her shoulder, was dull like a dye job that had been shampooed too many times. He could still see her, sure, but he couldn't </span>
  <em>
    <span>see</span>
  </em>
  <span> her, and that wasn't fair, because she was beautiful.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl, who was tugging at a hangnail, stilled in place, sheer panic coursing through him all at once.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Beautiful?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When had he ever, in his whole entire life, thought a woman was beautiful?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hot, maybe, in a vague, "I can say that I'd hit that because I will never have the opportunity," sort of way. But beautiful wasn't a word he used lightly. Not for this. Sunsets were beautiful. The sound of birds chirping in the trees at dawn were beautiful. A greasy egg sandwich during a hangover was beautiful. But not people. Not women. Not </span>
  <em>
    <span>Carol</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But she was. She was beautiful and Daryl knew it and now that was information he had to find a way to compartmentalize without giving himself away.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Daryl?" she said. Realizing he had fallen silent, Daryl unfroze himself and tried to school his features to look like someone who hadn't just come to a mind-altering conclusion.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Huh?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Tell me everything. What happened? What did she say? What was she like?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl stared blankly as she sent rapid-fired questions in his direction. Right. Loretta. He cleared his throat.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Well, uh, she's real old, you know, so her mind ain't all there. She thought I was her friend back from when she was younger, which I sorta just rolled with, but she mentioned your Uncle, and she mentioned this room."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Explicitly?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah, I asked her about the door and she was all surprised and asked how I knew about it. Hell, how did she describe this room, again? Somethin' like, 'a place where time happens all at once,' which is confusing and makes no sense so it's pro'ly true, 'cause nothin' ever makes sense anymore."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Carol smiled sympathetically, the corners of her eyes crinkling as she did, and Daryl was devastated to realize that the funny feeling in his belly that he got whenever she looked at him sweetly like that had little to do with the mystery of her existence, and a lot to do with the fact of her existence. As in, </span>
  <em>
    <span>she</span>
  </em>
  <span> made him feel funny, all by herself, mystery not withstanding. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He casted the thought out of his mind, though. He was being stupid. Obviously he was only thinking things like that because of the earworm Loretta had planted. He was reading too much into things because the old woman talked nonsense about finding love. Just because she said it didn't mean it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>true</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>But what if it was?</span>
  </em>
  <span> said a pesky voice in the back of his head.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Daryl? Are you alright? You seem distracted."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah, I'm fine, sorry." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He wasn't fine. If the overabundance of adrenaline starting to course through him was any indication, he was actually on the brink of a panic attack. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Well, wasn't that stupid? Secret, magic rooms he could deal with. Being controlled by the goddamn moon he could deal with. But the suggestion that he might have </span>
  <em>
    <span>feeling</span>
  </em>
  <span> feelings for Carol, or would soon if he didn't already, was apparently the final straw.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Actually," he said, standing up abruptly. "I gotta go."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"What?" Carol asked. She furrowed her brow. "But why? You've only just arrived, and you haven't told me what she said."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I know. I will. I just…" He trailed off, and Carol looked no less confused.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Did I do something wrong?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"No," Daryl said quickly. "It ain't you, it's...look, Loretta said some shit that I didn't realize was gettin' to me 'til I came up here and tried to talk to you about it. I need to think it through on my own for a bit 'fore I bring it to the brainstorming table."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"What on Earth are you talking about?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Tomorrow," he begged. "I'll tell you everything, if you just give me 'til tomorrow."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Carol searched his face, her lips parted. He knew he must look raw and vulnerable due to the way she slumped in defeat.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She said, "Tomorrow, then."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Tomorrow," Daryl promised, relieved. He then turned on his heel and high-tailed it out of there, unable to say goodbye.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl lay on his back on the porch smoking his third cigarette and feeling like an ass. The dark sky was cloudy, except around the waning moon, which shined through, clear and bright, almost as if it were taunting him. Part of him wanted to go back to the room and apologize, but the cowardly part of him was louder. Not that it made much difference. Even if Carol had bothered to stay in the room after he'd all but run screaming from her—unlikely—he still was no better equipped to handle the situation than he was forty minutes ago when he first left the house to panic in the fresh air.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Cicada song reached him from the treeline, and he considered roughing it for the night in the safety and comfort of the forest, but then brushed away the thought. That was what he did when he was afraid; where he ran to when he thought Carol was something that didn't belong. But she did belong, and he wasn't afraid of her anymore. He didn't know </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span> he felt about her anymore. That was precisely the problem.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Loretta said that what he was supposed to find in the Lunar Room (as Charlie had called it in his journal) was true love, but Daryl was out of his depth with mild crushes, let alone love. He didn't even know what an actual crush felt like.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Okay,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thought to himself, </span>
  <em>
    <span>let's think about this logically.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>First things first, he needed to figure out what his feelings were for Carol at that very moment, without worrying about what they were meant to evolve into, if Loretta was to be believed. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Well, obviously he liked her. The regular amount of like. He enjoyed her company. He looked forward to seeing her, to the point that most of his day was taken up by impatiently waiting until he could visit her next. She was beautiful, which was still a jarring discovery, and he enjoyed looking at her. He enjoyed talking to her more, though; liked hearing her thoughts, and making her laugh. He liked her brains, and personality, and smile, and eyes, and the way she would forget to be all proper whenever she got excited about something, and…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Shit.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He had a crush on Carol.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He had an honest-to-god crush on a woman who lived in 1920, and who only existed to him at sundown in a room controlled by the moon. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Why the hell couldn’t he just pick someone up at a bar like a normal person?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But okay. So that was news. Daryl gently placed that revelation into the "deal with it later" pile, and continued on to his next concern.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>What was he supposed to tell her?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It didn't feel right to lie, whether outright or by omission, so that left him one option and that was telling her what it was that Loretta had said. Maybe he could find a way to sugarcoat the big L word; make it seem less daunting. But what if that prompted questions, like, "How do you feel about that, Daryl?" Or worse, what if she recoiled at the mere idea that he might be her true love? She didn't seem the type to laugh at him, but he also wouldn't be able to fault her if she did. It would shatter his self-esteem until the end of his days, but no, he would never fault her. Maybe he wasn't as bad as Ed Peletier, but no self-respecting woman would want to be with a man who was nothing but trailer park trash with $27.45 to his name since he paid off the last of his and Merle's back rent the other day.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He also had to consider their doors. What if they figured out how to open each other's door, but then Carol decided to stay in her time because she was worried he was going to try and make a move on her? That the only person she knew in a brand new time period was only in it for what she could give him? She'd dealt with enough shitty men expecting things from her—Daryl didn't want to be one of them.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That, however, left him between a rock and a hard place. He couldn't lie, but he was afraid to tell the truth.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl ashed his cigarette and sighed. He continued to lie there, staring at the moon, caught in a mental battle on what he was gonna do when the sun went down tomorrow.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When Daryl returned to the Lunar Room the next night the two of them were wary around each other in a way they hadn't been since the start.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Carol wasn't on her bed, opting instead to sit at the vanity. She had a book open, but it was clear she hadn't been reading it because when Daryl walked in she looked up sharply from where she'd been staring off into space. Her pose was rigid; more proper than he had ever seen her, and he knew it was her way of being guarded. Instantly, he felt like a piece of shit. He hadn't meant to cause all this.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Hey," he said tentatively, closing the door behind him and then crossing his arms. The gesture felt defensive so he let his arms fall, but then had no idea what to do with them so he sort of swung them idly at his sides until finally stuffing his hands in his pockets with a mental reprimand.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>If Carol noticed his fumbling she didn't mention it. Instead, she gave a curt nod and straightened her back even more, which Daryl hadn't thought was possible given that she was practically a pole already.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Good evening," she said. Her voice was sickeningly polite and Daryl sighed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Don't," he said. "Don't do that. You don't gotta be like that. I'm sorry I was weird yesterday. It wasn't your fault, I promise."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Carol's eyes narrowed, like she wasn't sure if she trusted him, but a tiny bit of tension eased out of her shoulders so that she at least looked human instead of like a mannequin.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"If it wasn't me that caused you to flee then what was it?" she asked, and he hated that she sounded like she was trying to hide her hurt feelings.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"It was Loretta," Daryl said honestly. "Somethin' she said got me up in my head and it kinda hit me all at once. I needed time to think, but I shouldn't have run out on you like that, that wasn't fair."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Carol twisted her mouth and regarded him for a long moment.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"No," she agreed. "It wasn't. However I believe you when you say you meant no harm. But what could Loretta possibly have said that was so bad that felt you couldn't tell me?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl's stomach twisted into a knot.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"It wasn't bad, exactly, just...Look, can I sit? Have the conversation right? I swear I won't duck out on you again."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Carol gestured at the wall across from her, inviting him to take a seat. He took his time getting comfortable on the floor, shifting around more than necessary in order to stall. She knew what he was doing, he was sure, but he couldn't help it. It didn't escape him that she hadn't moved from her chair, when she was usually champing at the bit to have an excuse to sit on the floor. Truth be told, Daryl was grateful. He wasn't sure he could sit that close to her and be able to say what he needed to say.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Actually, he wasn't sure if would be able to say what he needed to say period, because when he finally got settled and she was watching him not-so-patiently, his mouth went dry and not a single word formed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Daryl?" she prompted. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah. Yeah, no, I'm good, sorry." He cleared his throat several times. "Look, maybe I should just spit it out. Get it out in the open. No sense beating around the bush." He rattled off redundant metaphors while continuing to not do the thing he was insisting he should. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Daryl." This time she said it sternly, understandably fed up with his nonsense, and Daryl gave a tremendous sigh.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Loretta said," he began in a nervous, punctuated tone, "that the only people who are able to come in this room are people who are s'posed to find their true love."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A ringing silence followed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Like I said, though," Daryl rushed on, “she was old as balls and outta her mind, so she pro'ly had no idea what she was even sayin'. Pro'ly would never say it again even if you asked her to her face, so like, take it with a grain of salt, you know? It all sounds real fuckin’ Disney movie-esque, which, shit, that pro’ly doesn’t make a lick o’ sense to you does it? Or maybe it does, I dunno when the fuck Walt Disney was born. Whatever, that don’t matter, what I mean is that it doesn't...it don't gotta...It ain't that big a deal. Right?" He finished his ramble lamely with a tinge of pink coloring his cheeks. Carol's face was unreadable, which did nothing to help the thrumming in his temples from his rapid pulse.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"When she spoke about Charlie," she said finally, "did it sound like a person in love?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Her response gave Daryl pause. Of all the things he was expecting her to say that wasn’t one of them. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Did it sound like a person in love?</span>
  </em>
  <span> What the hell kind of question was that? he thought.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What the hell kind of question is that?” he asked aloud. “How would I know?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, think about it. How did she say his name?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“She said his name the way it’s s’posed to be said, I dunno what you want me to tell you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re misunderstanding. I’m not asking you if she pronounced it correctly, I’m asking you if she said it with love.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, but what does that even </span>
  <em>
    <span>mean</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Can you even say a name with...like that?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Carol’s hands went up to her braid and she began playing with the ends of it, seeming contemplative. She looked past him rather than at him when she said, “Whenever Ed comes around he commands me as though I were already his wife. He calls me when he needs a glass of brandy fetched, or a plate refilled. He berates me if I sit with my legs uncrossed, or if he isn’t fond of the color of my dress. When he says ‘Carol,’ it’s often followed up with something such as, ‘You best not eat that, or you’ll start to burst right out of your seams.’ He has no fondness for me, and if I hadn’t known that already it would have quickly become apparent simply from the way he says my name. And so I feel it’s not an outlandish conclusion to draw that if someone can say a name with hatred, then they can say it with love.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl was glad they weren’t corporal to each other, because otherwise he would be inclined to do something stupid, like reach out and hold her hand. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He thought back to Loretta, but this time tried to remember more than just her words. The words themselves hadn’t been sweeping declarations of anything, love </span>
  <em>
    <span>or</span>
  </em>
  <span> hate, but hadn’t there been a distinct difference between the way she had spoken about the nurse in polka dot scrubs and the way she had spoken about Charlie? A lightness that was almost youthful when juxtaposed with her frail, wrinkled body? Giddiness—that was what it had been. She had been giddy as she fretted about tidying the house in anticipation of Charlie’s arrival, wanting everything to be perfect for him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl only had a couple chapters, completely out of order, of Loretta and Charlie’s story, but it didn’t take a private-eye to suss out the obvious. Even if Loretta hadn’t said that thing about the motives of the Lunar Room, even if her aging mind hadn’t picked that specific memory to be stuck in, Daryl would have known she loved Charlie, because of the way that she said his name.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“She loved him,” Daryl said then with certainty. “Still does. Some way, somehow, Charlie made it through her door, and in her mind she’s still the same age she was when it happened; when it was all fresh.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“‘No past or future, only one eternal present,’” Carol said, sounding distant, and Daryl got the impression she was saying it more to herself than to him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s what Charlie wrote in his journal, right?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Carol finally looked at Daryl’s face instead of the wall adjacent to him and managed half a smile.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s right.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Guess he knew what he was talkin’ about then.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So it would seem. But then, that begs the question, does she as well?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl swallowed hard. Carol’s gaze bore into him as they both waited for the other to speak first.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Look, I don’t want you to think I’m—”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“My aim isn’t to be presumptuous, it’s just—”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They spoke over each other and then stopped at the same time, laughing a little. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Feel free to say what’s on your mind,” Carol said.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Nah, you go.” When Carol looked skeptical he added, “Trust me, you’re doin’ me a favor. I don’t do good with easy conversations, let alone hard ones, so it’ll help if I have somethin’ to like, respond to, you know?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Very well,” Carol said quietly. She adjusted herself on her seat, and, growing frustrated when no position seemed to be comfortable, huffed in exasperation and clambered down onto the floor. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She didn’t sit against the wall this time, but instead, directly in front of Daryl sitting criss-cross, her dress bunched up in the dip between her thighs, revealing the sheer stockings pulled taut over her shapely calves. The stockings stopped at the knee and for the first time Daryl saw the bare skin of her legs. It was only a sliver, and it was hard to perceive fully with the waning moon playing with his sight, but he could just make out a scab on her kneecap. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was nothing—simply a skinned knee that was well on its way to being healed—but Daryl could so plainly imagine Carol in the big front yard outside of the house chasing around her little brother and sister, tackling them in the tall grass. Or maybe she got it by sneaking out in a rare moment when everyone’s backs were turned; ran down the stairs of the porch to get away from the stuffy air and her family barking orders at her. He could picture her lifting her heavy dress over her head and climbing a tree in nothing but her stockings and a slip, banging her knee against the bark, scratching the skin, and loving it for the sheer fact that she wasn’t supposed to.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He wanted to go tree climbing with Carol. Not only that. He wanted to hold the front door open for her and ask her, “Where do you want to go first?” He was giddy about the possibility of getting her on his side of the timeline to show her the world, and he wanted it to be perfect for her.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I have no expectations of you, Daryl,” she was saying, but she may as well have been speaking gibberish. “I know you have made me promises, and you are an honorable man who would never break his word, but please don’t feel as if you have to give me parts of yourself that you aren’t able to share.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Most of all, he wanted to say her name with love.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We don’t know for certain that what Loretta said was true. There’s no sense in getting ourselves worked up over hearsay. I think the most advantageous move on our part would be to simply keep pursuing our search for information on how the doors work. Without knowing the answer to that particular riddle we haven’t any need for worrying about anything else, anyway. If we’re to be one hundred years apart from each other forever then the point is moot. Yes, I think that is what we should—“</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Carol.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She stopped mid-sentence and looked at him in surprise. Drawing in a deep breath, Daryl got onto his knees and scooted closer to her so that they were only a foot or two apart. He looked her directly in the eye when he said it a second time.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Carol.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She searched his face, her lips parted. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh,” she said softly. “Alright, then.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl grinned slightly. She could read him so well. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He said, “You’re right. We don’t gotta say anythin’ big right now. I think we both know enough to keep goin’ forward, yeah?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, I’d say that’s accurate.” Her voice was quiet and breathy in a way Daryl suspected had nothing to do with the moon phase.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Then let’s...I dunno, let’s stop messin’ around and figure out how to work them fuckin’ doors..”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Agreed. But what happens after that?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He thought about it and then shrugged.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You come over here, if you still want to, and then I guess...I guess we figure out how we want to say each other’s names.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl could punch himself for being so stupid. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Several days had passed since his and Carol’s conversation in the Lunar Room about names and true love, and on every single one of those days Daryl had maneuvered through the compact stairwell after sundown to see her. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The nights usually started with sleuthing, or at least with attempts, but neither of them had been successful at coming up with any new information or had any strokes of genius, so it never seemed to take long for their time together to go from professional and serious, to two twenty year olds with ambiguous feelings for each other hanging out while casually flirting. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was a nightmare, and Daryl could </span>
  <em>
    <span>truly</span>
  </em>
  <span> punch himself.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>We don’t gotta say anythin’ big right now,</span>
  </em>
  <span> had felt like sage words at the time—uncharacteristically smooth ones, even—but Daryl had forgotten that in order for him to know Carol’s true opinion of him, the big things he wanted to avoid would need to be said, and he had effectively denied himself of that answer. And it wasn’t as if he was going to </span>
  <em>
    <span>ask her</span>
  </em>
  <span>, god forbid. So instead, not unlike their strange, little room, they were stuck in a liminal space of unsubstantiated assumptions that neither of them would voice.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Good one, Dixon. Ace in the hole.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>On top of all that, there was the added punishment that he was working a shift with the drywall company that afternoon, and his coworkers Axel and Oscar had decided to try and include him in their conversation about their sex lives, which was why he suddenly found himself on the receiving end of the following question:</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What about you, Dixon? You chase any good tail lately?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl did nothing to hide the obvious disinterest written all over his face, but the two men weren’t deterred. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“C’mon, you can tell us, we’re buds,” Axel said, nudging Daryl with an elbow to the ribs, which he swatted away with a scowl.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl tried to respond to that with an expression he hoped conveyed the sentiment, “I would consider you learning my middle initial being too much personal information, so you can kindly fuck off, please and thank you,” but the fools continued to grin wickedly at him, and he knew then that they weren’t letting him off the hook. It was sweltering out, the three of them tired, bored, and sweaty, and Daryl had just become the afternoon’s entertainment. Stellar.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You never share with the class, man, you can’t blame us for bein’ curious,” Oscar said.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s ‘cause it ain’t y’all’s business.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“But you know everything there is to know about me and Oscar.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Not by choice. Trust me, if I could bleach my brain and erase half the shit I’ve heard y’all say I’d be fuckin’ ecstatic.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey now, no need to get an attitude, we don’t mean no harm,” Axel assured him. “It’s just, your brother’s conquests are legendary, but we haven’t ever even seen you take a look at a girl. Not even that lady accountant that helps Dale with the books. The biggest queer on the planet would still notice that woman’s legs.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl hadn’t noticed that woman’s legs. However, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> noticed a single, faded, translucent scab on Carol’s knee and might have fallen all the way in love with her when he did. He wasn’t sure what that said about him, but what he knew for certain was that there was no way in hell that he was going to have Axel and Oscar help him figure it out. Even if he wanted to—which he ardently did not—what would he say if they asked where they met? Where she lived? What if they asked to see a picture of her? Daryl doubted the room would even allow him to take a picture of her, and that wasn’t something he wanted to try and explain.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I ain’t my brother,” he muttered, wiping sweat off his brow with the back of his wrist. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, we know that,” Axel said with a chuckle, despite there being nothing to laugh about, at least in Daryl’s opinion. “But blood is blood. We always figured you was just quiet about the company you entertained, if you catch my drift. Especially with that nice, big, empty house Dale’s got you babysittin’. Out there in the middle of nowhere, all quiet and shit. Phew, if your brother had access to a place like that he’d—”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“He’d trash it. Man, I told you I ain’t like him, so cut it out with that ‘blood is blood’ shit. Merle’s Merle, and I’m just...I’m just not him, alright?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His coworkers didn’t say anything at first, and when Daryl glanced at them they were both staring at him like he was a little kid about to throw a hissy fit and they were waiting for the screaming to start.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We didn’t mean no offense,” Oscar said. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s whatever. Look, can we just finish hanging this wall so we can go to lunch?” He didn’t wait for an answer. He bent down and picked up the power drill he had lying at his feet, where bits of debris and dust were stuck to the tarp on the floor. Lining up a screw with the marks he’d made on the wall, he found serenity in the loud thrum of the drill as he used it, the sound drowning out any possibility of further conversation.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It couldn’t silence his thoughts, however, and he couldn’t stop thinking about how his coworkers apparently saw him as a miniature Merle. And the funny thing about it was that it took him all the way until he got back to the house that night to realize that the reason his chest was so heavy wasn’t because he was angry.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was because his feelings had been hurt.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“My brother is a drug addict who used to be in prison,” Daryl said abruptly. Carol, who had been in the middle of telling him the most recent news from the General Assembly in Tennessee about the suffrage amendment, stopped mid-sentence, looking understandably surprised, as Daryl had said this apropos of nothing. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I beg your pardon?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“My brother did time at the pen for possession with intent, and ‘s’far as I know he’s been layin’ off the dope since he got out, but I can’t promise he’ll be like that forever. He might relapse, he has before, and like, he’s not a bad guy, not really, but the dope can make him real mean. And my daddy, I don’t talk to him. I don’t even know if he’s alive. There ain’t no question about whether or not he’s a bad guy. He is. He’s the biggest piece of shit I ever met, ‘though your Ed sounds like he could give him a run for his money, but I ain’t them. Even though we share blood, we’re real different, I promise.” He cleared his throat, becoming aware that he was rambling. “Um. I just wanted you to know, just in case we figure out the whole door thing and you decide you wanna come through here, I didn’t want you to see what my family’s like and think...um...Never mind. Anyway, what was you sayin’ about the Assembly? They haven’t voted on the amendment yet?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No, not until Wednesday. Daryl, are you worried that I might see where you come from and think coming to be with you was a mistake?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl didn’t point out that she had said “coming to be with you” and not “coming to be in your time,” but he definitely noticed it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No. Yes. I dunno, maybe.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The two of them, after having lost it for an awkward day or two, had regained the courage to sit next to each other on the bed. It was hard to feel uncomfortable with her, not because he wasn’t still driving himself crazy about what exactly they “were'' to each other—he was—but because the new moon was only days away, and Carol was nearly invisible to him. Even when he thought she was a ghost she’d never been so ghost-like. Her image was so faded he couldn’t make out the color of her dress. If he squinted he thought he could kind of see a hint of pink, but that was still mostly a guess. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh Daryl,” she said sadly. Her voice was distant, too. It wasn’t like a radio station that was out of reach; there wasn’t any static. It sounded more like Daryl was standing on the peak of a mountain with the wind going by, and if he stopped to listen he’d realize that the sound of the wind was in syllables. He had to strain to hear each word, but that didn’t stop him from talking to her. Hearing a phantom of her voice was better than not getting to hear her voice at all. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I just don't want you to have regrets, is all. I keep tryna tell you I ain't nothin' special."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Yes you are." He opened his mouth to protest but she barrelled on. "And before you say it, it isn't because you're from a different time period. The circumstances of our meeting would make lesser men flee, but you stayed, and you have seen the pain I'm in and have vowed to help me when you were under no obligation to do so. That takes a special person, Daryl, whether you believe it or not."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The words were whispers on the wind, but that didn't make them hit any less deep. How strange it was to have someone see real value in him, when it was nearly impossible to see it in himself.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"While we're on the subject," Carol said then, "I feel it's only fair that I voice my own concerns."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Concerns about what?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"About me. About how you may feel about me should this end the way we want it to. I don't consider myself to be a stupid woman, but there will be no way to prevent naivety once I'm in a world completely different than my own. I will be like a child, having to relearn everything, and I worry that you may find me tiresome after a while. You never asked to be a teacher."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Hey now." Daryl scooted closer—not </span>
  <em>
    <span>close</span>
  </em>
  <span>, per say, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>closer</span>
  </em>
  <span>—and placed his hand on the bed in between them. "I ain't gonna find you tiresome. I'll help you learn whatever you need to know, and then some, okay? Far as I'm concerned there's no better use of my time."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"How can you know that for certain?" Carol's dull, colorless eyes searched his own, wrought with worry, and Daryl wished he was better at words so that he could reassure her. He racked his brain, willing the right thing to come to him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"'Cause you're important to me," he settled on finally. "And important things are worth the time."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Carol ducked her head, pushing her hair back behind her ears. If he could see her in color he was certain her cheeks would be bright red. His certainly were. Eventually, after a drawn out silence that made Daryl nervous, she peeked up at him with that kind smile he'd grown to appreciate so much.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You are important to me, too, Daryl," she said, the words somehow more solid in the air than anything else they'd said all night. "It doesn't matter to me where you come from, or who your family is. I only care about you."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl let out a single, disbelieving chuckle as he stared down at his hands.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah," he muttered weakly. "Same here."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The last night before the new moon Daryl climbed the stairs and wondered if he’d be able to see Carol at all.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His concern was instantly forgotten when, upon swinging the door open, he was accosted by excited squealing, followed by Carol wrapping her arms around him. They passed right through him, of course, but she didn’t seem to care. She stepped back, her hands clasped against her chest, and although her body was nothing but a wisp in the air, he would have had to be blind not to see the way she was grinning ear-to-ear, and he knew why.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Good news?” he asked, biting back his own smile as he pushed the door shut. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked at her expectantly. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It passed the House.” Her voice was like a song playing at the lowest volume in the background, but he still heard the disbelief. “A 50-49 split. The news hit the telegrams a few hours ago and it’s been the only thing anyone’s been talking about.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Carol reached up to brush away tears Daryl couldn’t see.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Congratulations,” he said softly. She let out a noise that was half-laugh and half-sob.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You knew this whole time,” she accused, but there was no bite. Daryl shrugged shamelessly, which only made her laugh harder. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t wanna take this from you,” he explained. He drank her in, her silhouette practically vibrating with emotion, and he knew he’d made the right choice. If she came through his door there was going to be a whole lot of history she was going to learn in one big heap, but there was something to be said for experiencing it firsthand. Especially when it was good. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I was so cross about you keeping it a secret,” she admitted, “but now I think I might be grateful.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, in that case you’re welcome.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh don’t be arrogant now, you still could have at least given me a hint.” She waggled a finger at him, making him snort.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Guess so.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They grew silent. They were standing hardly a foot apart and they both seemed to notice it at the same time. But neither of them moved away. Instead, Carol lifted her hand and placed it near the curve of his jaw. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ve changed everything, you know that?” she said gently. “Absolutely everything.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl’s tongue wouldn’t cooperate when he tried to formulate a response. Instead, he swallowed thickly and nodded, hoping she’d get the idea. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A beat passed. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And another. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And then Carol took a step forward so that they were only a breath’s distance apart, and raised herself up on her tiptoes, bare say for her stockings. She brushed her lips against his, and while he couldn’t feel a thing, his body didn’t know the difference. His heart sped up, and his palms began to sweat. He let his eyes flutter closed, just for a moment, and let himself imagine that she was there—</span>
  <em>
    <span>truly</span>
  </em>
  <span> there—and was solid, with her plump lips pressed to his in the sweetest of kisses. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When he opened his eyes again she had lowered herself back down and was watching him intently, chest heaving, as though he’d somehow managed to take her breath away.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I believe I might be in love with you,” she told him then, returning the favor and snatching his breath, too. “Is that alright?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Daryl reminded himself on how to inhale. He took a big haul of air into his lungs and blew it out in a long stream.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” he said finally. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you in love with me?” she asked, the question bold but her tone threaded with nerves. Daryl brushed a finger over one of her loose curls, pretending he could feel the silky strands even as he passed right through them.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” he said decisively. “Yeah, I think I am.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Carol nodded slowly, not taking her eyes off of him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I already knew,” she admitted. Daryl tilted his head.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah? How so?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>With her voice nothing but a sugar-sweet song in the breeze, she said, “Because of the way you say my name.” </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>yeah hi, sorry, i know it’s been ten million years. i’ve been sick with a mystery illness that has been making writing super slow-going, which i absolutely hate, but i can only do what i can, ig. full disclosure, i’m still sick, and still trying to figure out why, so i can’t promise updates will be super regular, but i will try very hard to keep a biweekly schedule between this and my other wip, “an unfinished memory”. i usually give updates on updates on my tumblr blog (waynedunlaptheorgandonor.tumblr.com), so feel free to pop over there if you ever are wondering where tf i am</p>
<p>anyways, hope this was worth the (super long) wait. “aum” will be updated next</p>
<p>later, fam,</p>
<p>-diz</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. viii. new moon; waxing crescent: the rules</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The night of the new moon Daryl climbed the steps of the narrow hallway to the Lunar Room despite knowing that he wouldn’t find her when he got there. He’d never resented the moon before, never gave the phases more than a passing thought unless there was a particularly pretty full moon that caught his eye, but that night after sundown he found himself awash with a bitterness he didn’t know how to handle. It wasn’t fair for him to be angry, not really. Without the moon he wouldn’t have met her, but now that he knew that the fierce emotion constantly enveloping him was <em> love </em>, he felt it with such intensity that the moon taking her from him, if only for a single night, seemed like a targeted attack.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His bitterness faded, however, when he entered the room, and it was replaced with surprise.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The candles were lit.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He paused in the doorway beside one of the candles and watched the flame dance on the wick. A drop dribbled down the side in a slow crawl towards the ruin of dried, melted wax waiting at the base. Daryl traced the outline of the flame with his index finger, not close enough to burn, but close enough to feel the heat radiate off of it and kiss his skin. He’d almost expected it not to be hot. The laws of physics and time were so beyond fucked within the confines of the room that it wouldn’t have been out of the realm of possibility.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Daryl let his hand fall back to his side. He glanced around the room and saw nobody, but he knew that he couldn’t trust his eyes. Somebody had lit the candles. <em> She </em> had lit the candles. Carol was there with him. He couldn’t see her, he couldn’t hear her, but he felt her presence so tangibly that he doubted he would have needed the candles as evidence—he simply would have known.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That being said, he still didn’t have a complete grasp on how the room worked. They had come to the conclusion that it wasn’t a place of pure entropy—there was a rhyme and reason to everything it did—but knowing the room had rules didn’t do them any good when they had no idea what those rules were.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> When she lights the candles on a new moon, I can still see them. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Daryl catalogued this new information away with the rest of it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He started to walk slowly, his footsteps loud on the wood floor until his feet found the cushion of the rug. He stood in the center of it and looked up. Above him, the skylight window showed nothing but total blackness. There were no stars. The sight of it sent a chill up Daryl’s spine. He supposed that he had always known that the window had a mind of its own and it shouldn’t have been a shock, but for the first time he considered it, <em> really </em> considered it, and was hit with just how strange the window truly was.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He parsed it all out into bite-sized facts he could arrange in his head and add to his List of Rules:</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> The weather outside of the window is never anything other than perfectly clear. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> No matter the time of day or time of year, the moon is always visible. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> I can’t see the window on the outside of the house. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> When it’s the new moon, the view through the window is of a great, big nothing. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Even as he thought the words they seemed unbelievable. He wasn’t sure what it was about the window specifically that made him feel so off-kilter. Objectively, he’d dealt with much weirder stuff, but he couldn’t stop thinking that if what he saw through the window wasn’t from his reality, then <em> what </em> reality was it? And, more importantly, which reality did he exist in when he entered the Lunar Room?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He tore his eyes away from the skylight before his thoughts could overwhelm him. He meandered over to the vanity and stared at himself in the mirror. It was easy to imagine Carol showing up suddenly in the reflection, looming behind him, but that would have been something a ghost would do, and Carol would be the first to say, quite pointedly, that she was <em> not </em> a ghost. Running his hand lightly over the stool, imagining Carol sitting there brushing out her long, auburn hair, he sighed and made his way over to the bed. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>There was a book lying open on the mattress. Poetry, Daryl figured, scanning the words arranged in stanzas but not bothering to read any of it. He was about to nudge it out of the way so that he could sit, when suddenly a page turned on its own accord, making him startle. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>No, he realized once he remembered himself, it didn’t turn on its own accord. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Daryl searched the bed, acting like if he looked hard enough he’d be able to see her, but of course he couldn’t. The moon wasn’t visible and so neither was she. But he knew now that she was there on that bed. Sitting with her feet kicked under her, or maybe lying on her side, her head propped up by her hand as she lazily read poetry by candlelight. She’d be wearing a dress that allowed her to move freely, knowing that he wouldn’t be there to see her dressed so casually, and probably not caring even if he was. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>How, Daryl thought, did it take him by such surprise to realize he was in love? It was as if now that the feeling had a name it was the most obvious thing in the world. A warm sensation flooded his chest as he tried to imagine her clearly enough in his mind’s eye that he could trick himself into believing he could see her for real. Frustration overtook him when he thought about how even when the moon returned the next night, he still wouldn’t be able to touch her. He remembered their kiss—what was the closest approximation of a kiss that they could manage—and he hungered for actual physical contact like a lion who hadn’t eaten in a week. It was so unlike him, such untrodden territory, but even though a low-level anxiety was thrumming through him constantly, he found that it wasn’t unpleasant. There was anxiety that felt like dread, and anxiety that felt like excitement, and his was firmly in the latter.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He wondered if he could show her he was there, too. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He reached down to where her book lay, splayed open, and took the corner of a page in between his index finger and thumb. He made a show of turning it slowly, the sound of the paper sliding louder than it would usually be in the quiet room. He pressed down the crease of the book to make it stay, and then pulled his hand back and waited. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Seconds ticked by, but then yet another page turned, looking as though it were moving by an invisible magic. A grin tugged at Daryl’s lips. He took his cue and turned the next page, and she followed suit only a moment later, flipping the page faster.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’re gonna lose your place,” Daryl whispered to her. She couldn’t hear him, but he could pretend.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The book slid away from him then, as though she had taken it into her grasp. It hovered in the empty air, likely sitting on her lap, which he now realized he could make out the shape of in the indentations in the mattress from her weight. The pages began turning with more purpose. She was looking for something. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Daryl perched himself on the edge of the bed and waited patiently. A few seconds passed, and then then the book was gingerly placed back onto the mattress by hands he still could not see. He leaned over to peer at the poem she had turned to, angling the book towards him to get a better view.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The poem was called "Love's Philosophy," by Percy Shelley. The name rang a vague bell, like he'd heard it in passing in an English class before, but the closest thing to poetry he'd ever read voluntarily was Dr. Seuss books when he was a kid. Still, he read it now, because he knew it was her way of conveying a message across their unfathomably strange distance.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The text read:</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> The fountains mingle with the river </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>    And the rivers with the ocean, </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> The winds of heaven mix for ever </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>    With a sweet emotion; </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Nothing in the world is single; </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>    All things by a law divine </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> In one spirit meet and mingle. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>    Why not I with thine?— </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> See the mountains kiss high heaven </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>    And the waves clasp one another; </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> No sister-flower would be forgiven </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>    If it disdained its brother; </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> And the sunlight clasps the earth </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>    And the moonbeams kiss the sea: </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> What is all this sweet work worth </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>    If thou kiss not me? </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He had to go over it several times before he felt he understood it, and even then he wasn't confident he had it all figured out, but he got the gist, and some of that excited anxiety filled his heart. She was sending him a message, and that message was plain as day: She loved him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He loved her too, and wished there was a way to tell her. He briefly considered trying to write her a note, but he wasn't sure if she would be able to see it. He wished he understood the <em> rules </em>. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He wasn’t going to suss it all out right there by himself, so he pushed away the thought and took his turn with the book. It was an anthology full of old-as-balls poems that made his head hurt if he took too long to try and find the meaning, but he flipped through anyway, searching for anything that would satisfy what he wanted to say.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Eventually, he landed on a page where the title read "She Walks in Beauty" by some fucker who had the title of Lord. He skimmed the text.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> She walks in beauty, like the night </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Of cloudless climes and starry skies; </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> And all that's best of dark and bright </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Meet in her aspect and her eyes: </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Thus mellowed to that tender light </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Which heaven to gaudy— </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Okay, whatever. He stopped trying to understand. Besides, the first line seemed self-explanatory enough. Hopefully the rest of it didn't end with the woman actually being ugly or something. He decided to take his chances. He laid the book back down and waited.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It didn’t take long for Carol to scoop it up. The book was suspended in mid-air, splayed open like butterfly wings, the front cover facing him. The spine was being pressed flat, as though she were hugging it tight against her chest. He figured this meant that he had gotten his point across. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Suddenly, the book snapped shut and was tossed off the side of the bed, falling to the floor with a muted thunk when it hit the rug. There was rustling, and then the pillows were being shifted, and the quilt was being turned down. Daryl jumped to his feet and watched dumbly as the bed unmade itself, reminding him of a Cinderella cartoon he’d seen years and years before where the fairy godmother flicked her wand and static objects came alive. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>After a moment or two, the rustling stopped, and Daryl was left with the sight of one side of the quilt turned down, and the other pulled up over a lump of a figure he couldn’t see. It lay in the curve of a woman’s hips and waist, and it quickly became clear that the empty space beside it was an invitation. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Daryl was as nervous as he would have been crawling into bed with a woman he could see and feel in the flesh. Maybe more so, because this was a woman who mattered to him desperately, and it was so new, and so strange, and every part of it felt so tenuous that, love her though he did, he couldn’t shake the fear that it could easily fall apart if he took one wrong step.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But there she was, one hundred years in his past and one hundred years in her future concurrently—no past or future, only one eternal present—and he didn’t have to see her to know that she was waiting in that eternal present with that same anxiety that coursed through him. It was silly, almost, how despite the supernatural chaos surrounding them, they still managed to preoccupy themselves with stupid worries, like whether or not they were at risk of making fools of themselves in front of the person they loved. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It seemed to Daryl that there was no distance long enough that made humans any less human. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He toed off his shoes, kicking them to the side, and tentatively crawled into the bed. He lay on his side, his hands tucked underneath his head on the pillow, facing her. The bed should have smelt musty, having been sitting there for a century, but it smelled of clean linen, and very slowly he let himself relax, sinking into the cushiony mattress beneath him. Chewing on his lower lip, he reached out and hovered his hand above the bump in the blanket where he assumed her hip was, and idly he wondered if she was trying to touch him too. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>This was new. In the obvious ways, sure—he’d never been in love with a woman he could only see after sundown on the days that the moon was visible, <em> duh </em>—but more than that he had never lay in the same bed with someone; had never had the desire to. Now, however, he would have given anything to be able to touch her tangibly. To feel the heat of her bare skin against his own. He wanted to kiss her again, but with actual contact. He wanted to slide his tongue against her plump lower lip and learn what she tasted like. He wanted to be able to be with her with all five senses.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He pulled his hand back and closed his eyes. He slipped into sleep without trying, and just before he went under he made a vow that he hoped that, somehow, she would hear:</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He was going to get her through his door. He was going to love her for real.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Daryl had woken the following morning in the stairwell, which had been disorienting, to say the least. Carol had warned him that the room disappeared at dawn, and he had seen for himself that his door wasn’t there when the sun was up, but he never had given much thought to what that meant in a practical sense, because he had never stayed the night before. Part of him must have thought that the room would at least wait for him to wake up and collect his bearings before disappearing on him, but no such luck. At the first hint of sunrise, the Lunar Room had all but tossed him out DJ Jazzy Jeff style. He’d been startled awake by his head smacking against the hardwood, his body still in the same position it had been on the bed, which translated poorly to the bumpy, uneven terrain of a staircase. </p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> The Lunar Room does not exist in the daytime, </em> was a rule he’d already had on his list, but as he spent the day working the kinks out of his back after he’d pulled himself out of his unwilling contortionist act, he amended it:</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> No, for real though, the Lunar Room does NOT exist in the daytime, no exceptions. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But it was no longer daytime. The sun had just ducked underneath the line of the horizon, and Daryl was back on those stairs again—on purpose this time—making the trek to the room.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Returning felt a little like having to face the day after a night of blackout, binge drinking—you knew you did some stuff, and you knew that stuff had consequences, but you weren’t quite sure what they were. Technically speaking, he had slept with Carol. Sure, “slept with” was literal in this context, and granted she had been entirely invisible and soundless to him at the time, but still, in their own way, they had slept together, and Daryl wasn’t sure what was meant to happen next.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The candles were lit again when he entered the room, which made him smile. He was up there only a minute or two after sunset, but still she managed to beat him. He liked the idea of her wanting to see him so badly that she was counting down the seconds, waiting for her door to appear. She probably also craved a reprieve from waiting on her family hand-and-foot, but Daryl preferred the ego boost he got when he thought she did it just for him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Daryl half-expected to be accosted by her the instant he stepped foot inside, like she’d done the other night when she was full of too much excitement about the suffrage vote, but he wasn’t. Instead, Carol was standing near the vanity, her body looking like a single gust of wind could blow her away. She had her hands laced behind her back and was watching him cautiously. He thought he could see a bashful smile tugging at the corner of her nearly translucent lips. They stared at one another, both uncertain and shy.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hey, princess,” Daryl said finally, and there was no mistaking the smile that bloomed across her face as a trick of the light. She started towards him just as he started towards her, and they met in the middle. Carol held her hands out, palms up, and after a beat Daryl laid his over top of hers, hovering a millimeter above where they would be touching if only the room would allow it. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I never took you as a poetry aficionado,” she said. Her voice was a hollow sound, as though it had traveled the length of a long tunnel before reaching his ears, but Daryl didn’t care. There was a part of him—a small part, one that he might not have even realized was there—that had been afraid that the moon would return, but she wouldn’t; that they had taken too long to figure out what made the room tick, and one cycle was all they would get. But they hadn’t run out of time. Not yet, anyway. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I ain’t. I was worried I picked a poem you hated or somethin’, but I figured you knew me well enough to know that I wasn’t bein’ offensive, just stupid.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You weren’t stupid in the least,” Carol said sincerely, looking up at him and searching his eyes with her undersaturated ones. “‘She Walks in Beauty’ is one of my favorites. I was so pleased when you picked that one.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Good, then let’s pretend I did it ‘cause I knew what I was doin’, and not ‘cause I was flyin’ by the seat of my pants tryna find a some way to talk to you.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Mums the word. Here, come sit with me.” She dropped her hands and turned to go to the bed. Daryl watched her walk for a second, the skirt of her loose dress twirling about her ankles as she moved, before falling in step behind her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They both paused at the side of the bed, staring down at it like it knew things about them it ought not, and by the way Daryl’s cheeks grew warm one would have thought the two of them had committed a whole plethora of sins on that mattress, instead of sharing love poetry and falling asleep.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Carol, never one to be a coward, moved first. She climbed in and scooted over to her side of the bed. </p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> Her side. </em> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>They’d spent one night together and already Daryl was acting domestic. Internally he told himself to rein it in, feeling embarrassed. What he was beginning to learn, which he wished he’d known before it became relevant, was that he was like a penguin. Or maybe a duckling was the proper analogy. Once he’d found someone to imprint on, he was committed for life, but that was an awful lot to put on a woman he’d only been romantically involved with for two days. And again, not to belabor the point, on one of those two days they had been, quite literally, invisible to each other. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Daryl, often one to think himself a coward, took an extra few beats to get himself together before climbing in after her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They sat side-by-side, their backs pressed up against the backboard, pointedly keeping a safe distance between their arms, as if they could brush elbows even if they wanted to. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“How are you?” Carol asked after a comically awkward silence passed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Good. ‘M real good. You?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Better now.” She smiled at him, and when he blushed brilliantly he was glad that she likely couldn’t tell. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah,” he muttered in agreement. He cleared his throat, swallowed despite his dry mouth, and collected himself. “So,” he said, “I was thinkin’ about somethin’.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What about?” Daryl could just make out the worried crease between her brows, and he almost went to put a hand on her knee to reassure her before remembering he couldn’t.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Nothin’ bad, promise. I was just thinkin’ that it might be a good idea for us to make a list of the rules.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“The rules?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah. Like the rules we know about how this room works. Might help if we had it all written out for us to look at. The more we know about this place the easier it’ll be to figure out how to get them doors to work, you know?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Carol nodded slowly, considering Daryl's proposal.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"That seems like a wise course of action to me. I'll admit, we spend so much time up here but half the time I feel like I don't know what to expect."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I think you was right a while back when you said that this place knows what it's doin'. I think it's time we stop thinkin' of it as a place and more like, I dunno, not a person exactly, but somethin' <em> alive. </em> Somethin' with a mind."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"If that's true, then it has to be keeping its mind somewhere, doesn't it? Its power has to be emanating from a source. Not that I have any idea what that source might be."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"That's why we gotta start keepin' track of what we know. I think if we do that then it'll lead us to that source, and I bet you that's where we'll find the answers to our big questions."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Alright," Carol agreed. "Then let's not waste anymore time. Over on my bookshelf there's a journal and a pencil. Grab it would you? And we can start our list."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Daryl did as he was told and then clambered back onto the bed, journal and pencil in hand. When he opened it he saw that the first few pages were already written in, Carol's impossibly neat cursive filling the space. He flipped past it quickly, not wanting to invade her privacy, although she didn't act like she had anything to hide. He could have sworn, though, that as he was flipping, he caught sight of his own name.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He didn't mention it. Instead, he found a blank page and took the pencil in his hand.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Here's the first thing I wanna find out, 'cause I was wonderin' about it yesterday," he said. Carol nodded for him to go ahead, and on the paper he scribbled down the first thing he could think of, which was "Hi can you read this?" His handwriting was much less impressive than hers.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He held it out to her to see.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"When I write on here how well can you see it?" he asked her. Carol squinted, and then shook her head slowly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"The same way I see you, or anything you bring in with you. At this phase of the moon I can hardly read it at all."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"See, that's what I thought. I was gonna try and write you a note yesterday, but I didn't think you'd be able to see it."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"As much as I would have appreciated reading what you had to say, I'd say I lucked out by getting love poetry instead," Carol teased. Daryl chose not to comment and likely embarrass himself further. She laughed good-naturedly at him anyway. She really did know him way too well, especially considering how short a time it had been since they first met. Daryl chose not to comment on this either.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Here,” he said, handing her the journal and pencil. “You try it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The exchange was so quick that if he hadn’t been looking for it he would have missed it, but there was a split second between her taking hold of it and him letting go where he no longer had a grasp on it. Not only that—he wasn’t <em> able </em> to have a grasp on it, because it wasn’t tangible anymore. Carol noticed too, and she kept her hand holding the journal suspended in the air and looked at Daryl expectantly. Without a word, Daryl tried to take the journal from her hands, but it didn’t work. His fingers fell straight through.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“That’s happened before,” Carol reminded him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I know. With Charlie’s thing. Make sure to mark that one down. I can’t hold anythin’ that you’re touchin’.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Carol twisted her mouth and then smoothed her hand down the page. After a beat, she poised her hand in a practiced, proper way that showed evidence of years of being taught how perfect her angelic handwriting. Underneath Daryl’s scribbles she began a bullet-pointed list with the title “The Lunar Room Rules,” and the letters were clear as any of the other belongings in the room.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I can see it,” Daryl told her before she asked. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Fully?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So if you write notes, <em> I </em> can’t see them, but if I write them, <em> you </em> can?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I guess.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Carol made a frustrated sound that Daryl barely caught in the faded volume of her voice. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What’s the matter?” he asked her. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Nothing, it’s just…” She shook her head. “What I don’t understand is how the two of us meeting seems to have been almost, for want of a better term, fated, but if that were the case—if this room <em> intended </em> on the two of us being here together—then why is this mystery so difficult to unravel? If we’re meant to be then why isn’t it simple?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Do you think it’s not meant to be?” Daryl asked. He hoped the insecurity in his voice was lost with the crescent moon. Carol looked at him, and even monochrome and wispy he could see how soft her expression was.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No,” she said gently. “And even if it wasn’t fate that brought us together, then it was a damn good amount of luck. The problem isn’t that I don’t wish to be with you. It’s the contrary. I want nothing more than to be with you, but in order to do so we have to put together a puzzle we don’t have all the pieces to and that we’re being timed on, except we have no idea when the final second is to come. Does that make sense?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“For sure. I feel that too, it ain’t just you. But I don’t think it’s this room’s fault.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Nah. I sort of think this place is like someone who speaks a different language, you know? Someone who’s tryin’ real hard to get a point across but they only got so many ways to do it. I think it wants us to understand it, but just doesn’t know how to tell us outright how to do it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So it’s up to us to decode the clues?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I mean, I think if I tried to get anyone else to figure it out they’d stick me in a mental institution.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Carol’s laugh was like the jingling of distant sleigh bells in the sky.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Then I suppose it’d be prudent to stop, how would you say it? Bitching? It’d be prudent for us to stop bitching and write a damn list so we can figure this all out. Right?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Daryl’s delighted smile bloomed so big it hurt his cheeks.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Damn straight, princess,” he told her with pride. She casted her gaze back down to the journal, but he caught a glimpse of her smirk.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Alright,” she said, doing away with any lingering frustration. “Let us get to work.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> The Lunar Room Rules (insofar as we know them): </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<ul>
<li><em>Should Daryl attempt to write a message to me the letters seem to follow the phases of the moon.</em></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><em>To this end, the moon phases dictate our ability to see one another. During a full moon we perceive each other as solid; during a new moon we see and hear each other not at all. The waxing of the moon increases visibility and sound, while waning lessens it.</em></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><em>To the best of our knowledge, there is no way for us to touch, regardless of the moon phase.</em></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><em>Daryl can interact with any object of mine as long as it is not presently on my immediate person.</em></li>
</ul>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I'm not gonna understand a single thing you write if you write it like some fancy Victorian prick."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I'm writing in plain English, I don't know how else you want me to do it."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Princess, that ain't plain English."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Here, allow me to try and cater to you better."</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<ul>
<li><strike><em>Daryl can interact with any object of mine as long as it is presently not on my immediate person.</em></strike></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><em>Daryl can touch my <strike><span class="u">objects</span></strike> shit most of the time but he ain't able to if I’m the one holdin' it.</em></li>
</ul>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Okay, I don't talk like that."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"And I don't talk like a fancy Victorian prick. Now may I please continue as I was before, or shall I write the rest like this?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Why do I like you?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<ul>
<li><em>The rule mentioned directly above appears not to pertain to furniture. My theory as to why, which Daryl agrees with, is that the furniture is original to the room. Anything original to the room itself can be interacted with by either of us. For example, we are able to share a bed.</em></li>
</ul>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Stop that."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Stop what?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"You wrote that just to mess with me. And don't give me that look, just 'cause the moon ain't all that big tonight don't mean I can't tell when you're smirkin'. You're rotten."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"If I was being suggestive at all it was purely accidental."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Uh huh, sure. Just keep writin'."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"By the way, just because the moon isn’t all that big tonight doesn’t mean I can’t tell when you’re blushing."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Jesus, shut up and write the thing about the skylight. Oh, and don't forget to mention the pendant."</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<ul>
<li><em>Addendum to a previous rule: Daryl can interact with any object of mine that I am not currently in contact with, EXCEPT FOR my moonstone pendant. The reasons as to why are uncertain at this time.</em></li>
</ul>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Write down how there are supposedly two stones but we don't know where the other one is."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I will if you start to remember your manners. Unless you’d prefer to make your own list?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“...Please?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Good boy.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<ul>
<li><em>According to our research, there are supposedly two moonstones, however we do not know where the other is located.</em></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><em>The weather outside of the skylight is never anything other than perfectly clear, and the moon is always visible regardless of the Earth's present position.</em></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><em>Daryl says to add that he investigated and could not see evidence of the skylight's existence on the outside of the roof. </em></li>
</ul>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Is it possible it might exist only at nighttime? Like with the door?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Maybe, but I don't really wanna climb on the roof in the pitch black to find out. Pro’ly would break my neck. Let's leave that one a mystery for now."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Fair enough."</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<ul>
<li><em>The Lunar Room only exists after sundown and disappears at sun up.</em></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><em>Daryl says to mention that it does not matter if you are still inside of it once the sun rises. He states that he has a bruise on the back of his head from where he hit the stairwell, the poor darling.</em></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><em>To that end, the stairwell leading to the Lunar Room appears to work within linear space and time as we know it.</em></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><em>Charlie's journal stated that time in the confines of the Lunar Room does not work the same way. "No past or future, only one eternal present."</em></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><em>We can reasonably conclude, by reading journal entries from both Charlie and Audra d'Heur, as well as from Daryl's conversation with Loretta Bennet, that it is possible for us to go through each other's doors. This is the biggest conundrum we have yet to solve.</em></li>
</ul>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Oh, I forgot to mention the doors. That's rather important isn't it? I should have mentioned it earlier. Maybe I should rewrite the list in order of importance."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Princess, no one but you and me are gonna see this, why does it matter?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Because now it feels disorganized."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Just write it at the bottom, who cares?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"...Alright."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"You're gonna rewrite this list as soon as I ain't watchin', aren't you?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Very likely, yes."</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<ul>
<li><em>It should have been mentioned previously, but Daryl and I have different doors that are accessed by personalized doorknobs that open to each person's current time. I cannot access Daryl's time period, and he cannot access mine.</em></li>
</ul>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"There," Carol said, setting her pencil down on top of the open journal. "Am I forgetting anything?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Pro'ly, but I can't think about it anymore right now. I figure we'll add to it as we learn more stuff anyways, right?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"That would make the most sense."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Then let's call it good for now. I think it's definitely a start, and it helps to have it all written out." As Carol nodded Daryl tried and failed to fight back a yawn, all the detangling of details wearing him out.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"You're tired," Carol said softly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s early still.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"You should at least rest, then. I probably should, too."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Alright. I can, you know, head back out if you want. Let you be for the night?" He didn’t mean to say it as a question, but that was how it came out.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"You don't have to...I wouldn't be opposed…" She wrung her hands in front of herself and took a breath. "What I mean to say is that if you would like to stay here with me, you may."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Daryl's mouth went dry. She was still nothing but a faint wisp he could barely perceive unless he was paying close attention—which he was, ardently—but it felt so much more intimate than it had the day before.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But that didn't mean he didn't want to stay. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Alright," he said after a beat. A shy smile played on Carol's lips. She shifted to turn down the covers, just as she had the night before, only this time he could see her doing it. She slipped underneath the quilt and lay her head on her pillow, watching him for his next move. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Gently, Daryl lifted up the abandoned journal and pencil and moved it out of his way so that he too could get under the quilt. He lay on his side facing her, and again felt that overwhelming wish that he could touch her, if even just to brush their fingers together, but there wasn't anything he could do about it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I will try to wake you before sunrise so that you don't have a similar mishap on the stairs in the morning," said Carol.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"That's okay, I can set an alarm on my phone."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"That doesn't make any sense." She didn't say it like she cared about an explanation. "Actually, hand me the journal for a moment, would you?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>With a bemused frown, Daryl handed her the journal and pencil and watched as she propped herself up on her elbow in order to write something down.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"You think of somethin' we forgot?" Daryl asked. Carol grinned.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"The most important thing there is, I should think."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She held the journal out for Daryl to see and his whole body flushed warm with that affection that was so new and foreign to him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>At the end of the list she had added one final rule for the night:</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<ul>
<li><em>The Lunar Room exists for people to fall in love.</em></li>
</ul>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>hello. i had to reread all of what i had previously written in order to write this one, bc there are rules about this room that daryl and carol know, and there are rules that i know that they haven’t figured out yet, and i wasn’t 100% sure on which ones those were and i didn’t want to spoil my own surprises. here’s hoping i didn’t do it anyway. but also i thought it might help a bit to have an actual list explaining how the room works, bc ik i get confused as hell sometimes, and i’m the one who invented the stupid room.</p>
<p>i’m considering finishing umbra before going back to “an unfinished memory” just because there isn’t all that much left and i’m getting to some fun plot stuff (anyone interested in hearing how carol died?), but i don’t want to promise anything. still vaguely sick and also have a lot of original projects i’m working on outside of fics, so i apologize that my update schedule is a massive clusterfuck and will likely continue to be so.</p>
<p>still here, tho. still writing. indefinitely. someone free me lol</p>
<p>aight, later turds,<br/>-diz</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i promise not all the chapters are going to be 6k words describing a fucking house. i hate writing house descriptions, but it was necessary. this was a set up chapter. i had surgery last week and i'm fine but very tired so writing has been slow going, but i will try to update this more frequently than i have been with other stuff.</p><p>semi-related: gas gauge fans, i'm gonna update that before i update this, bc i owe you a chapter like, yesterday. i'm gonna try super super super hard to get it to you within the week. ik keeping schedules isn't my strong suit, but i rly want to get back into the swing of regular updates, a la my jumper cable days, both for that and this, so i'm gonna do the best i can. i will try for you, my loves, but be patient with me, as i may not be perfect from the jump</p><p>anyway, like i said, set up chapter. weirder things to come. hope it was a decent enough hook to get you to return. i googled so many fucking pictures of houses, my god</p><p>until next update, my dudes,</p><p>-diz</p></blockquote></div></div>
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